


All Our Days

by ArtemisClydeFrogge



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 30 Days of Techienician, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Background Finn/Rey, Blow Jobs, Bonding, College AU, Confessions, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fingering, First Kiss, Halloween, Headaches & Migraines, Loss of Parent(s), Love Confessions, M/M, Millicent - Freeform, Minor Original Character(s), Modern AU, NSFW, Nesting, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, See ch12 for HP AU, Self-Medication, Siblings, Sickfic, Smut, Technobabble, Teen Angst, Temper Tantrums, doting, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisClydeFrogge/pseuds/ArtemisClydeFrogge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Mercy build a life together.<br/>[30 Days of Techienician]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> S/O to AtlinMerrick for letting me know about 30DoT- I'd had no idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first apartment together will need furnishings.  
> [Present Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever _been_ in an IKEA?

The IKEA looms on the horizon like a hulking cyclops, its singular yellow eye turned unblinking on its next two victims. Mercy stares as it rises closer against the sky, bright blue and massive even from the farthest distance. As Matt pulls their little car into a space that is only about two days' walking distance from the entrance, Mercy reaches over to touch his partner's sleeve. It's the soft grey baseball shirt that they both love, and take turns wearing.

“We- We could still order online...”

Matt has plenty of arguments both against, and for, this statement. He's been prepared since Mercy first, haltingly, agreed to this adventure. They absolutely could have shopped online. Could have shopped in a smaller store. Could have done many things- but he knows a truth about their situation that he is trying to get Mercy to see. He lays one broad hand over the pale, freckled one that holds his forearm.

“You can do this. I believe in you."

“Oh,” Mercy flushes, _so prettily_ , and drops his chin so that he can hide a moment behind his hair.

“I won't leave you. I'll be right there with you, just hold my hand,” Matt has been working, for years now, on pulling Mercy out of his shell. They have made leaps and bounds, and Matt is shocked at how much he, himself, has also grown.

Mercy gives a little nod and drifts out of the car, with his eyes still down. Matt comes up alongside him, brings Mercy's little hand up to thread it alongside his bicep, and leads them into the IKEA's maw. They spend the first hour wandering along the most obvious path, looking at artistic imaginings of living room and bedroom spaces. Of futuristic and homey kitchens. Mercy grips Matt's arm, hand, sometimes the closest belt loop of his jeans. As a teenager, Matt hated to be in other people's space, hated to be touched for too long; had felt smothered. Now, he can't imagine shopping trips in new places without Mercy surgically sewn to his side, never far, never alone.

Gradually, they get more and more comfortable in the space, to the point that Mercy will step away when something catches his eye, tugging Matt along and then showing off what wonderful thing he had found. He finds that he loves the system of shopping for large things, with order forms and pencils, and quickly appoints himself Boss of Paperwork, which Matt finds disgustingly cute and can't help but preen to himself at how it is his support, in part, that has raised up this funny little ginger man.

Their adventure winds down with Matt carrying two large IKEA bags of throw pillows, and Mercy leading the way down the giant warehouse aisles where the build-able furniture lives. He seems now to barely notice the other customers milling around, though he avoids direct encounters. Matt drives the industrial pallet cart to check-out, the bags hung from the side, while Mercy hovers alongside, keeping an eye on the stacked boxes.

Though Matt still handles the payment and the awkward small talk, he is still bursting with pride at how well Mercy handled the overwhelming corridors and maps and humans milling. They make it to the car, work together to pack the trunk- bungee cords are involved, and geometric physics- and get settled in the front seats with plenty of sunlight left in the day.

“Mattie,” the redhead mumbles, covered in throw pillows due to the folded backseat and two hundred pounds of compressed furniture, looking over at his partner with such open affection that if not already sitting, Matt thinks his knees might have gone out from under him. “Thank you for today.”

“I didn't do anything,” but he smiles, because he knows he did.

“You know what I mean,” Mercy argues, voice going low with the gentle admonishment that Matt lives for. They pull away from the gravitational force that IKEA exerts, drawing in more and more victims, but none of them as soft and sweet and inured against outside forces as the two young men leaving now. One levering himself against fancy pillows to kiss the driver's cheek, one driving single-handed so he can hold, even now, the hand of his favorite person in the whole world.

By silent agreement, Matt drives them through a fast food joint for burgers and fries, and then they head home to their first apartment that is all theirs: no roommates, no dorm-mates, no one at all but each other. And the cat.

And likely, they are the only two people on earth looking forward to lunch and then five hours of assembling furniture together- for both the science of it, and the excuse to be together, even after all this time.

 


	2. Gardening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Kee helps Mercy put together a housewarming present for Matt.  
> [Present Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lina Kee is now your mom, too.

Their new apartment is on the second floor, and there is a patio of decent size adjacent to the living room. They can see that many of their neighbors use the space to store bicycles, grills, card table sets, and potted plants. It's the potted plants that spark the idea in Mercy's noggin, some three or four days after they have assembled the first half of their IKEA furniture. He knows that Matt's mother is a gardener, that Matt knows more about plants and flowers and vegetables than his buff and nerdy countenance would suggest.

On a day Matt works and he doesn't, Mercy calls his partner's mother, heart skipping in nerves. He knows there's no need for it, Lina Kee seems to earnestly adore him, never hesitates to say as much. “Mrs Kee?”

“Hi, sweetheart, how are you?” her voice is warm, always is unless they call in the middle of the night- and it's a reasonable thing, since the only reason they call at night is because of an emergency, and at those times she is all business, ready to tear into whatever hardship the universe sent them.

“Um, good. The house is looking nice.”

“Matt told me you two went to IKEA last week. Was that fun?”

“Oh, yeah, yes,” he smiled to himself, glancing at the sturdy little entertainment center they had finished first. “We're still putting stuff together. It's not hard, exactly, it's just...”

“Time consuming?”

“Yes, that's it,” he leaned over the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the small dining area. He had a list of things he knew he would need. “Um, anyway. Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Mm, no, not really, just house things today. Why? Do you kids need help over there?”

“Not, uh, exactly. It's just I wanted to, um, do something for... Matt. For him. And I need help.”

“Oooh, I see, is that right,” her voice seemed buttery as she spoke, as though she were smiling extra wide, “Well what are you planning?”

“I wanted to go to the garden center in one of the... um, places that has those things. I guess I don't know where to go. I thought maybe you would have a favorite place and we could... go there. I wanted to get, um, some pots and things.”

“For the patio?”

“Yeah. If that's okay?” he winced. He hated asking for help, but Mrs Kee had made it clear he was to call her if needed her. And he wanted to need her. She was the sweetest, most wonderful lady he'd met in a long time, and he loved when she got strict and no-nonsense. It made him feel structured, safe. His own mother, a free spirited, wanderlust-driven, starry-eyed dreamer, definitely loved him, but there had been so little structure and so little consistency, and it had always made him nervous.

Lina laughed, “Of course it's okay! I can come pick you up in- let's say an hour?”

“Thank you, yes, that would be excellent, thank you so much.”

“Any time, sweetheart, see you soon.”

Mercy tapped the End button on his phone and took a deep breath. Totally painless. Now he just had to have the project set up by the time Matt got home from work later.

Mrs Kee rolled up in their family station wagon roughly ten minutes later than the hour to find Mercy waiting in the lot for her. He had his satchel with the list on its notepad and his wallet and a pen, just in case. He also had a present for his boyfriend's mother, which they had found while leaving the IKEA.

“Thank you for helping me today,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling the packet out of his bag. “This is for you.”

“Oh! You didn't have to get me anything!” she exclaimed, grasping the present with glee. She peeled back the paper and looked at the sealed box before laughing. “Oh, these are perfect, I can see why you grabbed them.”

“Mattie- Matt said you needed a new set,” Mercy blushed, keeping his hands between his knees, “I didn't know they were called trivets.”

“Ah, that sounds like my boy,” she smiled, twisting to place the bear shaped pot holders in the backseat. As they pulled away from the complex, she launched into planning mode, saying, “So- let me guess: A few big planting pots, a few small ones. A couple of flowers, of course, and... hmmm... a tomato plant, how about that?”

Mercy caught himself laughing, a high, unexpected sound, “Yes! Yes, that's what I want to get him.”

Lina turned her head to grin at him while they sat at a red light, and it turned into a uniquely maternal smile that made Mercy want to curl into a ball and sleep with his head on her lap. It had been the thing that he would do with his own mother, on the nights she drifted home late from the rolling waves of her lifestyle. She would pet his hair and sing between cigarettes.

“Well,” Lina turned east on the main strip down the center of the city, “Off on our adventure, then.”

She took them to a medium-sized gardening outlet and helped him pick out the types of seeds and soils and planters than would work best together, and with the space that he had to work with. It went more quickly than he expected it to, but that was a boon on time to get it set up. The duo made the return trip with Mrs Kee singing along with old country songs, her light brown curls ruffled in the wind that passed through their windows. Mercy dared to hum along.

Back at the apartment, he hefted the pots to the elevator, winded by their weight. Mrs Kee poked fun at him, saying, “I see I'm not the only one that makes Matt do the heavy lifting.”

They filled the bottom of the five pots with drainage, some rocks, then a fair amount of soil.

“I'll let Matt decide what to plant in which pot,” he explained out loud, though Mrs Kee seemed to know already his thought process. At the end of moving them onto the patio and closing the sliding glass door on the project, he stopped himself from doing a little happy dance-wiggle. This had gone so well, and had been so fun.

“Matt's going to be home in, um, a half hour or so. Do you want to stay and say hi? I could make tea. Or coffee. He's bringing home Chinese tonight, there will be lots,” even as he spoke, he moved around in the kitchen, filling the kettle to make hot water, and surprised at how easy it was to be in this space, to share it with someone who he hadn't spent _that_ much time with. Even with the clutter in the living room and no real dining room set up yet, which normally would have made him feel inadequate and nerve-wracked.

Lina only smiled, kind, and said, “I'd love some tea. And maybe some chow mein.”

She sat at the bar and told embarrassing stories of Matt's childhood, and her own husband's follies, while Mercy leaned against the bar from the kitchen side, sipping the rooibos tea that always reminded him of the best times in his life. They were laughing and barely noticed Matt come in, the Chinese food hanging from his left arm and smelling hot and delicious.

Mercy turned when Lina did, suddenly grinning and feeling filled with light. He didn't notice the way Lina watched him bound to her son, taking half of the bags with one hand and hugging himself against Matt's free side with his other arm. He didn't see the way Lina smiled when Matt squeezed him back, kissing the side of his head and taking a deep, steadying breath.

“Hi, Mom,” Matt said, settling the bags Mercy had not taken onto the counter and leaning in to give her a hug.

“Hi, sweetheart, how was work?”

“Long,” he shrugged, watching Mercy gather plates and silverware- he knew the redhead was excited about the matching set they had found, “But not bad.”

“I hope you don't mind, but Mercy invited me to dinner.”

“'Course not, Mom,” he snorted, “Save us from too many leftovers.”

“I don't like chow mein as much,” Mercy offered, eyes wide.

Matt and Lina laughed a very similar laugh, and it wasn't until an hour of eating and chatting had passed before Mercy froze and gave a little gasp, “ _Matt_! I almost forgot, we got you something.”

Mrs Kee shook her head, “It wasn't my idea. I'm just the driver.”

Mercy shook _his_ head, tugging Matt with both of his small hands wrapped around Matt's wrist, “No, your mom helped me _a lot_ , I wouldn't have gotten all the right things."

The three of them crowded on to the concrete patio, while Matt made a long sound of the word _Wow_ and poked at everything they had left him to play with- the packets of seeds, the little watering can that had been too cute not to buy, and the little hoe and rake set. “Baby, this is amazing, thank you, wow.”

Mercy glowed in the light of Matt's praise, tucked against Matt's side and under his warm, heavy arm. He held his own arms loose around the other man's back and waist and held on. He let his temple rest againist the bigger man, loved and full and happy, and so, so grateful to Lina Kee for bringing Matt into the world for him to find and be found, and for being so lovely to him even though she didn't have to be. He opened his eyes to smile at her, and she smiled back, quirking her mouth in a way he had seen Matt do a handful of times. The group filed back into the apartment and packed up the leftovers in the new tupperware they had picked out, and hugged Matt's mother until she threatened that they would squeeze all the Chinese food out of her.

“Tell Dad hi,” Matt stood in the door, Lina getting her keys out of the purse, “Tell him we're still on for the baseball game on Saturday.”

“Sounds good, pumpkin, I will.”

Matt locked up and turned out the porch light once he saw the station wagon pull smoothly from the lot. He met Mercy in the kitchen, finding him rinsing the dishes and humming a song that sounded _so_ familiar but which he couldn't quite place. “Thank you again, baby, I love them. I love the whole thing.”

“I'm glad,” Mercy leaned against Matt's chest after he shut off the water, “Hanging out with your mom was fun.”

“She really likes you,” Matt said, rocking them in place.

Mercy tilted his head to look up at him. “She said that?”

“I just know,” Matt said, soft and light. They stood, swaying lightly together as the stars became brighter and brighter through their kitchen window. Soon enough it would be time for bed- they were both exhausted from their days. From work and from socializing, and being apart. Matt ran his hand across Mercy's slightly puffed out belly and sighed, kissing the side of his head and then his neck. After years of wondering what the point of anything was, and being so _angry_ , all the time, this was like a dream. A sweet dream he sometimes worried he may wake from- but Mercy had closed his eyes and relaxed even further against him, had started humming that familiar tune again- had spent his free day putting together an amazing gift.

He was glad his mom liked Mercy, because he had a feeling, a good feeling, that they would be growing together for a long, long time.

 


	3. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long, long time ago, on a campus far, far away. They meet.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt is just a grinch who gets his heart grown three times its size.

His third year of college, things _change_. Or, at least, they begin to.

The catalyst is the advanced computer science class he is registered for that fall term, at the beginning of the academic year, and the beginning of the rest of his life. Although his engineering degree has a more mechanical focus, computer science must still be a large part of his understanding in order to be truly successful. This is what he had told himself when he saw that it would be a requirement for graduating, accounting for eight total credits. Telling himself that he must do it does not make him any less grumpy when he trudges into the lecture hall with a travel mug he filled from his parents' coffee maker. He is ten minutes too early, which means he is twenty minutes ahead of the class's start time.

The only other people there are a few other students in two small groups, chatting quietly, and a single redheaded guy near the back corner with a tablet in his hands and a pen in his mouth. Matt sighs, wishing he felt as motivated.

He ends up sitting near the back as well, and that is the norm for the first week of term. The next week, they must partner up for the lab section and that's when things take off, blast away, and catapult him on to a new path- not academically, but emotionally.

His partner is the young man he noticed from the first day, the spindly redhead who only this week transitioned to long pants for the changing season. He's so incredibly shy, Matt wants to strangle him; he just wants to get the work done and get the next two terms of ACS _behind_ him. It's not as though the random assignment was bad, necessarily- it's not as though he had a friend in this class.

It's not much that he has friends at all (there are probably four, total, three not including his mom).

Still, he's frustrated all the time, grumpy all the time, and mad all the time, and having to deal with this six foot tall _child_ is going to drive him up the wall.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, they meet after the lecture- they do not sit together, not yet- and compare notes on wiring, and software, and hardware, and programming, and resurrecting dead motherboards. At first, it is like pulling teeth. His partner won't make more than three seconds of eye contact before flushing and looking away, stutters, mumbles, rambles, and his hand writing is nothing short of atrocious. They limp through the first half of the term in this fashion, Matt inches from snapping at the other student almost constantly.

Today wasn't so bad. Mercy- his name was _Mercy_ , what an unusual moniker- had brought an extra coffee from the little independent shop in the quad. This on the heels of Matt texting him earlier-

_really dragging today, didn't give myself enough time to make coffee_

-followed by Mercy texting back:

_i'm sorry- meet me at the lab a few minutes early?_

And he had shown up with two cups, one hot for Matt, one iced for himself.

“Oh, wow,” Matt stumbles, standing outside of the lab, under the awning, and out of the drizzle. Carrying both drinks in his hands had left Mercy no extra hands for umbrella operation and his hair is damp. A few strands of water-dark red stick to his pale forehead. “You didn't have to get me anything.”

Mercy shakes his head, brushing his hair behind his ears with his free hand and then using it to cradle his drink along with the first. His hair was past his ears at the beginning of the term and is now creeping along the length of his neck, a brassy and rebellious ginger color. Matt stares. He thinks he definitely did not deserve this sweet gesture when he has been short and brash and not exactly nice to his lab partner of the last five weeks.

“It's okay, I wanted to. I hope it's a kind you like... it's a caramel mocha. I thought that since most people like caramel... Um.”

Matt laughs, the nervous tilt of Mercy's head and worried lilt of his voice was too much. Caramel is a flavor he definitely likes, of many, but what he ends up saying is, “It's great, really. Caramel is my favorite.”

The reward is immediate: Mercy looks up at him, his eyes wide and the deepest blue Matt has ever seen. Had his eyes always been that color? How had he not noticed? It was like a light had been turned on inside of the redhead, he _glowed_ when he smiled so broadly, his eyes starting to crinkle at the corners. Matt didn't think he'd ever seen anything quite like it- a change in demeanor so immediate, so nice.

The sound of the rain falling on the metal roof seemed to fade away; the clamor of other students entering and exiting the lab building ceased to exist. Mercy was saying- “Caramel is _my_ favorite, too.” -like it was a secret, just between them, that he was delighted to share.

And just like that, another change in a long line: Caramel is now Matt's favorite, and he knows with startling clarity that he will do almost anything to keep the shy, withdrawn, and sad-eyed young man smiling like he is right now. Anything.

 


	4. Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward to the end of Winter term. Nothing is easy, until it is.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll better strap the fuck in, 'cause this chapter means business

It's Winter and they have one more project due before the end of term. Old, dead laptops had been collected and distributed, and it was each student team's job to resurrect it to the point where 'irretrievable files' could be retrieved. There were shortcuts and workarounds, rules, procedures which had to be observed: and if parts needed to be replaced, they were on a strict 'client budget' of only fifty dollars, which had also been distributed and would be accounted for, by receipt and remaining balance.

Matt and Mercy had spent forty-three dollars and eighty-eight cents.

They were most of the way finished, and had booted up their dead laptop twice now. Mercy had wanted to take it one step further- when it came to computers, Matt had found, Mercy always wanted to take things a step further- and they were now incorporating their purchases, upgraded budget parts, to improve the system _even more_. “Take it from being just a paperweight with some files on it, and make it a laptop again. That someone- that someone could use.”

Matt was surprised that Mercy could still wow him, could still send him into a sense of awe, at some offhand remark or some strange insight. It had been _months_ and he was still startled at the depth Mercy displayed beneath the layers and layers of self-protective shyness. He'd never met anyone like the computer tech, and he'd begun to hope he never would.

Outside of the dorm apartment, Matt shifted a cardboard tray of coffees from both hands to balancing on one, and knocked. He'd been by only once before, and they hadn't stayed. A young woman with two long braids opened the door; she was wearing sleep shorts and a tank and clearly didn't plan on leaving the dorm that day, if the paused television and bowl of ice cream were any indication.

“Oh, hey,” she said as Matt re-positioned the drinks, “You're Techie's lab partner, right?”

“Um, yeah, we're finishing our take-home final.”

“Super,” she said, shutting and locking the door behind them; her hair swung with incredible animation as she spun and flopped back into the couch, waiting for Matt to pass through the living room before picking up the remote. “He's the last door, if you didn't know.”

“Thanks, actually,” Matt mumbled, a little embarrassed- he'd glanced at her legs. They had been really nice.

The last door opened a few moments before he was outside of it, and Mercy peeked out and up at him, blushing, “I- heard you come in.”

“I brought coffee,” Matt lifted the tray stupidly, as though it weren't obvious, but the way Mercy lit up when he grinned soothed the edge of his self-deprecation.

“Yay,” Mercy said softly, with no trace of sarcasm or silliness. Matt entered carefully, trying to be polite, and shut the door with his hip before looking for a place to set the tray down. The room was basically neat; there was the single bed, made, and a desk, covered in folders, books, and a slimline desktop computer. The office chair had no arms and was placed on one of those easy-roll mats that he had seen at Staples and the like. Mercy stood against the free wall, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Um, can I-?” he gestured to the desk, and Mercy quickly made space. When Matt turned, Mercy was sitting up gingerly on the bed, with one leg folded and the other hanging over the edge. The closet door was open, and there was a dresser and a small trunk within, only a few shirts hanging on the bar. Above, on the small shelf, were neatly labeled shoe boxes. All of the labels identified computer parts.

“You're room is nice,” Matt started, feeling huge and out of place in the little space.

Mercy shrugged and looked at the foot of the bed, “It's kind of plain. I never really got around to decorating.”

“That's okay, sometimes it makes spaces feel smaller when there's stuff on the wall. I mean, not that you couldn't put _something_ up, if you wanted. Or, uh, that your room is too small.” Now he felt like an ass, and slid his hands into his back pockets, trying not to clear his throat or appear any more out of sorts than he clearly was.

Mercy smiled, “Maybe I'll get a poster. Or a framed piece of art.”

Something about his sweet tone put Matt at ease immediately- everything about Mercy was without judgment, it felt like, except when it came to computers. Even then, he was still fascinated by old parts and systems, rather than dismissive. Matt wanted to be like that, upgrading for Mercy's benefit, but classic and sturdy at his core. Reliable.

“Which one is mine?” Mercy asked, though it was obvious.

Matt assumed it was fine to sit in the office chair, so he lowered himself more gingerly than necessary into the seat and handed Mercy one of the to-go cups. Matt had discovered, among other peculiar habits, that Mercy was one of those freaks of nature who drank cold drinks all year long. But he looked so _happy_ , so elfin, as he sat sipping the caramel frappuccino, that Matt only found him cute. As opposed to horrified, when, that first afternoon they shared drinks, he'd watched Mercy drink down sixteen ounces of iced mocha while  _icy rain_ gave way to _hail_ around them.

Matt picked up his backpack from where he'd dropped it on the floor, and dug out the folio he'd been putting together for the last two weeks. “Ready?”

Mercy took a deep breath through his nose, mouth still sealed around the green straw, and nodded.

Two hours later, Mercy's drink had been reduced to an ounce of melting whipped cream shot with a sickly ribbon of caramel, and he had also finished off the cooled end of Matt's drink. Their project was, for all intents and purposes, done. Matt flipped through the folio one more time, already panicking with the work done, that they had possibly missed something- but. Everything was fine and in order, sources cited, steps taken, letters dotted and crossed- and their paperweight was a working computer again. Certainly not a _stellar_ working computer, but something _someone_ would be able to use.

Now it would be time to pack up and head back to his own home- his childhood bedroom back home. He didn't want to. Not yet. He wanted to spend more time with Mercy, as much time as he could get away with. But- this was the last project that needed doing, and the class was functionally over: All two terms of it, all eight credits. Matt felt his heart thump hard against his ribs as his mind scrambled to come up with something, _anything_ \--

“Do you... would you want to, um,” Mercy fidgeted; both of his legs were folded on the bed now, and he had pulled a pillow into his lap to support his elbows while he rested. “Maybe go... get some dinner t-together?”

Matt's hard thumped again, _harder_ , at the way Mercy croaked slightly and coughed, looking down and away like he did so often. Less often around Matt, now that he thought about it. He nodded, staring at the high rise of color on Mercy's cheeks, blending out his freckles and leaving him muddy with emotion. Matt wanted to--

A visual. Pushing Mercy down on his little single-wide bed and getting the blankets _rumpled_. Tucking Mercy's hair behind his ears with his own big fingers and counting all the freckles he could reach and--

“Oh, um, well we don't have to. You probably have plans, I'm sorry,” Mercy suddenly mumbled, the redness spreading wild to his ears and down his neck.

_Oh shit no I didn't say anything I was too busy staring like a fucking creep, shit--!_

“ _No_!” he bellowed, leaning too far forward and almost upending the chair for lack of arms to balance himself with. Mercy's eyes, so dark so blue, went as wide as Matt thought eyes could probably go, and he clapped both his hands over his mouth and nose as if _he_ had been the one to shout. Matt over-corrected in the chair and almost fell out of it.

“Oh- my god, I'm so sorry,” Matt hurried to recover, sitting on the absolute edge of Mercy's chair, “Techie, man, I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Uh. We should definitely go get some food.”

He didn't think anything could be more awkward and painful, but here he was, watching Mercy watch him with wary eyes and warier eyebrows. He offered, “We don't have to...”

“No, really, I want to. I just got- stuck- up here,” he tapped the side of his head, desperate to recover. “ _I'm_ sorry.” He added this like Mercy sometimes added things: Like it was a little secret just between the two of them.

For a long moment, the computer tech peered over at Matt and his desperately open, desperately hopeful expression, and considered him. His arms were still closed together against his chest, his hands resting into fists beneath his chin. His heart had shuddered and dropped and he wasn't sure what to think. Finally he nodded carefully and let one of his arms down.

“Okay... Really?” he looked down and the remaining fist under his chin uncurled to rest against his neck, still protecting; as he spoke his words became softer and softer: “You don't have to, um... keep hanging out with me. Now. That, um, the class is over...”

Impulsivity rocketed through his arms and into his hands; he clasped them both down over Mercy's lowered hand, where it very slightly held the edge of his lap-pillow as if it were an anchor holding him in place in a storm of upset. Mercy's hand was still cool from having held his iced drink; the skin from his wrist to knuckles to fingers was soft. Matt ducked his head, trying to catch Mercy's eyes from their locked gaze on his hands covering his hand. He let out a sharp little exhale, so startled, like a bird, and looked up to see Matt's warm brown eyes, beseeching.

“I promise, I _promise_ I want to- to spend more time with you, Techie,” he tried, feeling his fingers hold more firmly around Mercy's. He swallowed, licked his lips, didn't know what next to say. He didn't want to say too much- he wanted to say it all. That meeting Mercy had ended up meaning the world to him, and that the idea of not continuing to spend time with him made his chest ache, his eyes prick with the threat of angry tears. “I know... people aren't always very nice to you. I've seen it.”

Mercy opened his mouth to argue, to say it wasn't so bad, that it wasn't a problem, but his mouth snapped shut when he felt Matt's thumb roll once in a smooth arc across his wrist bone.

“When we first met, I didn't understand you, either, not really. But you've been such a good friend to me in spite of that, I really didn't deserve you. Honestly, you're kind of my best friend.”

“Besides Rey,” Mercy mumbled, eyes still wide, the way he breathes it almost like he's reminding Matt of an appointment while at gun point.

Matt breathes out a giggle that sounds like it's coming from somewhere far away, but it's honest, “Besides Rey.”

And then Mercy is slowly smiling back, the fear fading from ocean blue eyes like a wave.

Matt squeezed the little hand between his own one more time, but didn't let go, “Hey, how much leftover cash did we have?”

“Six dollars and twelve cents,” Mercy rattled out immediately, holding eye contact for the longest Matt thought he ever had.

“You know what we should do? We should take it to a bank and have them turn it into pennies.”

Mercy's spare hand jumped in front of his mouth but he couldn't hide the gigantic grin that lit up his entire face, “We couldn't!”

“We could! We can go tomorrow, before the lecture. That's when we have to turn it all in, with the receipts.”

“We'll get in _trouble_ ,” the redhead dropped his free hand, right on to Matt's clasped two; he was leaning forward, positively sparkling with mirth- Matt _loved_ how it looked on him.

“We won't. We _won't_! There's nowhere it says _how_ the money needs to come back. Just the correct amount. And the receipts.”

Mercy fell into a fit of giggles as Matt got to the word 'receipts' again, as though in conspiracy. As though telling the most delicious secret, forever between them, in this safe little bubble of space away from all the world who didn't understand them like they were learning to understand each other. As their laughter subsided, Mercy opened his eyes and saw that Matt was so, so much closer than he had been- was balanced on the very edge of his rolling chair and smiling in a way that felt like a balloon was being blown up within his solar plexus. He blinked, time slow all around him, night fallen outside and the light in his room too bright, too warm-

He was so warm-

And then Matt was leaning in, leaning forward, brushing their lips together so tentatively, with such gentleness, that Mercy thought his heart was making up another fantasy to keep him up at night. Matt's lips were _nice_ , just as nice as he thought they might be, as he'd _hoped_ they would be, when he, off and on again, hoped he might find out some day. 

Matt had withdrawn, only a breath away, still so close, and Mercy felt the sharpest, smallest gasp tumble out of his tight throat, past his trembling vocal cords. He was shaking, all of him: Short-circuiting, wrongly crossed wiring- smoke signals. His fingernails caught on Matt's knuckles, but Matt didn't seem to care, he only rested his forehead against Mercy's and folded both of the redhead's hands between his huge, broad palms. Once he had Mercy safe, still trembling, but safe, he glanced briefly, through his brown eyelashes and with his big, brown eyes, checking for duress.

Mercy bit his lip, couldn't open his eyes all the way-

_I must be dreaming_

-And then Matt was nosing along his cheek, along his freckley nose; when Matt's eyes closed Mercy felt his own eyelids shutter and then they were _kissing_ again, _properly_ , with Matt's plush lower lip soft against Mercy's mouth and then warm, warm, warm, everything was _so warm._ He could feel the lenses of Matt's glasses dip briefly against his cheek, skitter away, then press back, almost a reminder, gentle.

Matt's heart was like a hummingbird, straining to get out, because suddenly, without really thinking, without planning, he had gone and _kissed_ his lab partner; the young man with the lovely red hair, and sweet secret smiles, and wicked sense of humor and wickeder tongue covered in curses and _caramel_ , this was his favorite flavor-- it seemed it had always been his favorite, _had_ to have been, because what other flavor was there beside the chaste, light hint of Mercy's favorite thing?

He reached with one hand to catch the back of Mercy's head, where his hair was getting long, so long, and had to be touched, had to be kept _close_ , so that Matt wouldn't lose him, not now, not ever. Now freed, Mercy's quick, clever hands, the same that breathed new and creative life into the most delicate machinery, were grasping the front of Matt's shirt, clutching tight, so that Matt couldn't get away- which was fine, it was perfect, because where would he go? He was kissing Mercy, Mercy was kissing _back_ , and everything was so warm and so perfect for being unplanned.

Slowly, so slowly, Matt stilled his lips from stealing more of Mercy's breath away, though he wanted to catch every huff and every gasp and keep them bottled for himself, for all of his days. He hadn't expected this, would never have guessed- but-

“Techie,” he whispered, eyes still closed, thumbs running soft, back and forth, along Mercy's sharp jaw bone. “I really... I _really_ like you.”

The sound which tumbled past Mercy's mouth, barely bruised with the kind, intemerate kisses Matt has pressed to him, passed to him, like another promise, was like a sob, but smaller, sweeter, more open than Matt knew he deserved- so vulnerable and made of silver-spun hope.

“...you, I...” Mercy squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, because if he saw Matt's charming, handsome face while he confessed, ( _finally, finally confessed_ ), he wasn't sure he wouldn't start crying, “...like you, too. So much, so so much...”

Matt hummed, the happiest sound he knew how to make, now that he knew how feeling _this happy_ felt. He brought his hands up, careful, gentle, to do as he had daydreamed and maneuvered Mercy's hair behind his ears. He had to see; opening his eyes, still trapped close by the hands stretching the collar of his university brand-shirt, he saw how red and warm Mercy's blush ran across the bridge of his nose and in his ears, his closed eyes, eyelashes pale and tremoring over his cheek bones like shadows against fire. Mercy's mouth was slightly open, but he breathed through his nose, shallow, waiting.

He wouldn't need to wait long, the invitation- it was written plainly in the kind of ink that is invisible and loud and measured in inches and quarts of longing.

Matt pulled Mercy close, kissed him again, still careful, still mindful of how he trembled, of how he, himself, was shaking, too, with nerves and disbelief, and _wonder_. Mercy unfolded like a flower, slipping easy to the edge of the bed, his knees between Matt's knees, his arms between Matt's arms, and made himself at home within the convivial confines of Matt's open frame. He fit there like Matt had been made for him, and the way Matt bundled him close, still kissing him lightly, it was clear Matt thought he had been made for Mercy, too.

Matt pet Mercy's hair down the back of his neck, let his palm spread wide between his sharp scapulae, and pulled shiver-soft away, skimming Mercy's forehead and nose and cheeks, and then settling into just _holding_ him, like he _had_ to, like he had no other notion of a use for his arms beside keeping Mercy close and safe from anyone who would mean him harm of any kind.

How was it so bright in this room? So dark outside?

Mercy took a deep breath, deeper than he could remember being able to breathe, like a big knot had given way inside his chest. He whispered, not wanting to break whatever spell had made this wish come true: “Matt...?”

“I've got you,” Matt whispered back, running his palm along all the trembling lines that were paling in intensity all along his back and his arms and even his legs. It would have been embarrassing, but Matt, so strong and sure, was easing down from his own shakes, and they were equal together. In another breath, Matt asked, squeezing him tight, “Well. That's taken care of, then. What do you want to eat?”

Mercy couldn't help the sharp, loud laugh that burst out of him, even brought one hand to his mouth to muffle it, but it was out and bright and Matt wanted to catch it in a kiss, but kept himself behaving; he asked, “Thai?”

Mercy nodded, giggling, pressed close, safe. “That sounds nice.”

“Then that's what we'll do.”

And that's what they did, though it did take another eighteen minutes and seventeen seconds of little kisses and littler touches, soft, shy glances, and disbelieving huffs of laughter, before they tip-toed through the dorm- out past Mercy's sleeping roommate- hand in hand.

 

 

 


	5. (Home)work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back it up to Fall term; Mercy is having a hard time with this paper. He blames Matt.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter meanders it's because it's almost two in the morning.

Mercy is trying to finish a schematic for a new way to strengthen graphene in transistor channels without adding to the near-perfect atom-thick composition; it's not going terribly well because his focus is always more on the _uses_ of things like graphene and carbon nano-tubes, rather than the very specific chemical and material work-ups such things embody. It is also not going very well because Matthew Kee, his lab partner for Advanced Computer Science, is also in the study hall, with a very pretty young woman, just a few tables away.

Except for the girl's elaborate braid, they both look comfortable and easy-going, not dressed up for the occasion, and it seems perfectly reasonable that they are only there to work in companionable semi-silence, like most of the students.

Some students are actually sleeping, slumped over their half-finished work, so they don't count.

They might be having, functionally, a study _date_ , emphasis on _date_ , but Mercy isn't convinced one way or the other. They aren't leaning into one another, touching feet beneath the table- they aren't fussing with their hair or reaching across the corner of the table and brushing a hand over an arm, or any such flirtation. She's very, very pretty, though, and Matt is _so handsome_. The redhead wouldn't blame her, of course. Matt is broad and fit and has a wonderful nose, cute moles scattered across his face and neck, and he is smart and fast and probably can bench either of them: Mercy or the girl.

Matt's an engineering student, so Mercy supposes there must be some use for the incredible, defined breadth of his biceps and shoulders, moving like a promise beneath the fabric of his shirts. The blonde seems to like subtle references to mechanical in-jokes, names of universities and laboratories, and a rather large number of NASA shirts, which is charming. By far, though, Matt is like Apollo compared to his peers in the tech sciences their university favors.

Mercy sighs, a silent exhale the ruffles some of his papers, some of the reports he's referencing; it's been an exhausting day, and his shoulders and neck hurt. Mostly his neck. Leaning on one elbow, he stares down at his work so he can't stare any longer at the pair just beyond; any more and he's going to be caught, and then what?

How embarrassing that would be. How completely awful. It was still a bit awkward between them, Matt was much less short with him, much less frustrated, when he found that his lab partner was very, very good at computers, and very, very good at the labs. They regularly finished early, which meant more free time and more rest (and, in counterpoint, less time for Mercy to enjoy being very casually near, just a little more near than he maybe had to be, sometimes shoulder to shoulder, sometimes knees knocking under the tall tables).

He couldn't explain it- both the graphene and the attraction. It just was. There had to be a quantifiable way to describe what it was about Matt that made Mercy's heart beat a little faster, a little harder- there was just _something_ , something secretly sweet about him. The first time Mercy had seen him smile, though, that had to have been part of it- the most perfect curve on a mouth that had been tight with irritation.

At that time- in that moment- sometime last week, the low-simmering temper that Mercy had suspected came out in full force and in full view and it had been _terrifying_ , but it had been on Mercy's behalf, and it-

-it had been so unexpected, so selfless, to be defended by that wild and frightening anger. 

Mercy had been shaking, afraid, but Matt had turned, in solidarity, and the explosion had left behind that _smile_ , that had looked so _good_ , that the redhead could have swooned. A curve- his awkward eyeglasses and his messy blonde curls, kept short but always wayward- this quirk of a smile-

_oh_

-a curve.

Mercy tapped his pen against the table and took another breath, steady, through his nose. He had other things to do besides waxing poetic about how he had seen a secret side of an attractive classmate, and here it was: If the copper deposit was _curved_ in the furnace, or if the silicon wafer was-

He'd have to thank Matt, really, anyway, for helping him finish his paper.

(Especially after distracting him so, so much.)

 

 


	6. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happened 'the other day' that Mercy was thinking of last chapter.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i can't see straight

If it hadn't been for the way that the light had reflected, had refracted, had shone, on the dark copper of Mercy's hair, Matt may not have noticed, and may not have intervened.

If he hadn't skipped breakfast, hadn't been cutting through the quad- any small thing could have changed what happened, but what happened was: He saw the light bright off of his lab partner's long hair.

Usually Matt wasn't fond of longer hair on guys; he felt most men looked a bit odd with long hair, though he suspected it was in part his father's upbringing that had him slightly brainwashed. Still. Most men looked a bit odd with overlong hair, _but_ Mercy wasn't one of them. It wasn't even all that long, just down his neck an inch or so, and- well it was a wonderful color, not one Matt saw often.

So his eye had been caught, but what kept his attention was the two other students standing with the redhead, and the way that Mercy was standing- very sharply hunched, with a heavy book clutched in front of his chest. As Matt drew closer, still on his way to a late breakfast before his next class, he saw the way Mercy _looked_ , as though he were in pain. His eyes were downcast, not unusual, and his eyebrows were drawn somewhat tightly together- less usual. His mouth was tight and thin, white almost, and he was shaking his head, very slightly, back and forth.

Matt drew up alongside them, his bad feeling growing stronger, and more intense, than his hunger pangs.

The two students in front of Mercy were average looking guys, nothing unusual, though they looked strangely malevolent. Matt caught the tail end of the shorter man's words: “-didn't see you at graduation? Why's that?”

Mercy turned an incredible shade of red, and looked away, finally catching sight of his lab partner stepping closer. His eyes went wide for a moment, then wider, and he seemed at first relieved and then more agitated. To the duo, he mumbled, “I just couldn't be there.”

“Why not?”

“I just couldn't.”

Matt frowned, something was seriously off. He had dealt with enough bullies on his own to recognize what he was seeing. He stepped more closely to Mercy; he was an odd guy but there was no reason to make him uncomfortable. Matt interjected, trying to deflect, “Hey, Techie, what's up- are you headed to a class?”

Grateful. Matt was certain Mercy's look was _grateful_.

The taller of the duo snorted, “They're still calling you that? Does he copy your homework, too?”

“Whoa, man,” Matt stepped completely in front of Mercy, shielding him. The tone these guys were taking was unacceptable. “I think you need to move along.”

“What the hell is _your_ problem?” the shorter of the duo groused; he moved his legs several inches farther apart. “We went to school with Madine, here, we're just catching up.”

“It doesn't sound like catching up to me,” Matt said, tone flat and low. He felt more than saw Mercy shift more behind him, felt his breath stutter between his shoulder blades.

“Well, it's not really your business, _man_ ,” the taller returned, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

Matt stood more straight, more tall; he felt a vertebra in his back pop, felt the adrenaline starting to flood his system. It wasn't his business, not really, but it didn't matter who it was- nervous, rambling Mercy-his-lab-partner, or a complete stranger- Matt was going to stand up. He had promised himself ages ago to put his body to use, and put all the days he had been bullied, himself, to shame. He said, casting his voice back to Mercy. “Techie. Are these guys bugging you?”

“Now hey, wait, come on,” the shorter said, dark hair sticking almost straight up, but moving when he shrugged, “You're totally overreacting, man, just chill out.”

“Techie?”

He felt pressure right behind his top spinal vertebra, before his neck began; it was Mercy's forehead, nodding slightly. He could also feel the spine of the book pressing into his back; it was like Mercy was trying to disappear.

He addressed the two former classmates, “Look, I don't care what the story is, you just need to move along.”

“Dude, fuck you-” the shorter one, the feistier one, had taken a step closer, within two feet of Matt, and of Mercy, hiding. Matt shifted, dropping his backpack and reaching with his left while his right fist wound backward. The punk jerk stopped himself cold, startled by the reflex Matt went into: He had caught the bully's shirt front and had his fist millimeters from the guy's nose.

And he was satisfied because he felt the tiny breeze his fist displaced against the bully's face. He spoke, voice coming from low and deep in his body, from a place he almost wished he didn't have access to, but which he did, sometimes with his control, sometimes not: “You're going to turn around, and you're going to walk away. I know your type. You're transparent. Leave Mercy alone or the only notes you'll have to worry about are the ones doctors make about your broken face.”

He let go, shoving slightly. He didn't have to shove hard, he had the height and the leverage- and the power of surprise. The bully stumbled, but his friend reacted, rushing into Matt's space with speed, he was cursing, attacking, but he didn't get farther than cuffing the edge of Matt's chin as Matt shifted backward: With a growl, he crossed his arm in front of his chest and swung it back, _fast_ , knocking the back of his hand against his attacker's ear. The effect was immediate; the second bully howled in pain, tears prickling in the eye closer to the slapped ear.

“You mother _fucker_ ,” the guy hissed, clearly seething. “I'm gonna fucking report you!”

“Do it,” Matt shrugged, showing the back of his hand almost casually, though his heart was pounding, and he could barely hear over the roar of blood in his head, “It'll be hard to prove, though.”

Because he had not used his fist, had limited his attack to the mostly flat, mostly soft, side of the guys face, his knuckles weren't bleeding or even broken-skinned. His hand only looked ruddy with color from the cooling weather, from not wearing gloves. With that, the two bullies ambled away, grumbling and occasionally looking back to see if Matt might change his mind and suddenly vault after them like a wild animal.

Instead, Matt turned around to face his lab partner and grinned, “I hope that was okay. If not, I guess I'm going to be in trouble one way or the other.”

Mercy stared, blue eyes bright and a little wet; he still held his book protectively in front of his chest, but his fingers were no longer white with strain. His hair swing along his jaw when he shook his head.

“Thank- thank you,” he said softly, turning another shade of red: This one less virulent, more pink. “I went to high school for a while with those guys.”

“I figured,” Matt picked up his bag, shouldered it again. “Were you heading for the Curie building? I'll walk you there.”

“Oh, you don't-”

Matt shrugged, “Don't worry about it. I was going to the cafeterium, they're right next to each other.”

“Oh- okay, sure.”

They walked together quietly, Mercy nervous as always and sneaking peeks up at his classmate every meter or so. Matt didn't mind. He felt like a superhero. Probably Superman, although Mercy was a redhead so Spiderman might be more apt, since he was always rescuing Mary Jane. It didn't matter. The adrenaline was wearing off and he was _starving._ When they were just a few feet from the Curie building, Mercy faced him more directly than he ever had before, standing straight and tall; his hair still shone in the autumn light.

“Really, thank you,” he smiled, something incredibly light and pretty about it, “You really helped me out. So thank you.”

“No problem, man,” he waved as Mercy scampered into the lab building, and he thought it was no wonder Peter Parker was always swooning over a redhead, if they could be sweet like _that_.

 

 


	7. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven years ago, Matthew Kee kicked (another) hole in the wall.  
> [Youth Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of mom feelings while I wrote this. (Also, he had a little crush on Rey when they were teenagers (who wouldn't?!), but obviously he grew out of it. I just wanted to clarify.)

The thing Matt regrets saying the most- out of every stupid thing he ever said- is something he shouted, almost screamed, at his mother. He apologized the next day, and periodically for another six years, never satisfied with himself, never believing he was well and truly forgiven, though he knew he was.

He was fifteen, already so gangly and broad and _tall_ , and everything hurt, both inside and out. Some days he thought he was going insane, the littlest thing could set him off. He can't even remember what it was, _what_ had flown into his senses and provoked so much undue rage. Matt remembers shouting- remembers putting his foot through drywall, remembers his mother's face, twisted then with just as much ire. They had had fights like _cats_ , the angriest kind. Some days it was just like that. Lina had thrown up her hands and grounded him, on the spot, which was unacceptable because he was supposed to go hang out with Rey that night.

(He'd really, really liked her for a long time, she was so _funny_ and cute)

This turn of events, which wasn't _fair_ , meant that he would have to cancel on her, and what would she think? That he was blowing her off? Or if he told the truth, that he couldn't keep his temper in check and had kicked a hole in the wall and (truthfully) deserved to be grounded? She'd _probably_ be fine, but what if she was mad? And what if she liked him back maybe, but this cancellation meant that she would _stop_ secretly liking him- though that seemed unlikely, even in his imagination, because Rey was a very easy-going friend most of the time, and, probably, didn't like a guy like him. A big, awkward nerd who sweat all the time and had no redeeming qualities, _really--_

So much went skyrocketing around in his head that he had exploded, _screamed_ at his mother, and said the worst thing he could say, “I hate you!”

So he was a cliché, too. A big, dumb cliché. The grey fury in her eyes had gone so still and so dark that he was afraid she'd kick him out or ground him for the rest of his life- but, what she had done, what had hurt more than anything like that, was turn around and leave. No more words said. And _then_ , then his dad had, bone-weary, picked himself up from the lounge chair he had been pretending to read in. His hair was still gelled back from work. He hadn't looked at Matt at first, just assessed the damage and then said, with so much disappointment in his voice, “We'll have to go the hardware store.”

So they had gone, _right then_ , which had hurt so, so much, because his dad wasn't speaking, just driving, then just leading the way while Matt pushed the cart. He supposed his grounded status didn't count if he was being escorted. His dad was quietly picking out what they needed, telling a sales associate Thank you, but no thank you, we're fine.

And Matt had had to just _follow_ , keeping his chin down because if he really saw his dad ignoring him, stoic and disappointed and _tired_ from working a ten hour day, then he would cry. Just, start sobbing, right here in the hardware store. He was grounded, but he wanted to go home. He wanted to see his mom and tell her he was sorry, so so so sorry, and that he didn't hate her, not at all- just-

All those things had been screaming inside his head, and in his chest, on top of all the other things wailing for space in his skull, and maybe it was hormonal too (it was), it was just _too much_ and he wasn't sure why he even got so mad, but he _did_ , and now here he was in the check out line, bent like a serf and praying his dad wouldn't say anything because his tear ducts were hot and he wasn't sure he could handle even that much.

His dad grabbed one bag and he grabbed the other, carrying it to the car without saying a word, either.

When they got in the house (Matt quickly grabbing both bags so he could alleviate some measure of the guilt tearing around inside his over-wracked body), his mom was standing in the living room with a mug of tea, just standing and staring at their DVD collection. She glanced over at them while Matt's dad closed the door, and before he could help himself he was croaking, “ _Mom_.”

And that was the end of it, because she just smiled a little, soft, forgiving smile, and he had to put the bags down because he was crying, sobbing, and had to be held _right now_ or he would fall apart and they would never be able to put all the pieces of him back together. He was already taller than her, but in her arms he felt small. It was the only place he _ever_ felt small anymore, was in his mother's arms or under the rare and devastating gaze of disappointment his dad could sometimes level on him, merciless and more effective than any beating another parent might try.

His mom squeezed him tight, so tight and safe, and he cried into her neck and onto her shoulder, gripping her knit cardigan maybe too much, but she didn't seem to mind. He knew his dad had taken her tea, when he passed by and briefly patted his back, and he knew by that pat that his dad wasn't truly angry with him, just tired, very tired. It made him cry harder, knowing that they loved him so much, despite his flaws and how awful he could be. Still, his mom rocked lightly on her feet, rubbing his back and saying, “Shhh, shhh, my baby, shhhh,” though he knew she didn't mean to stop him, only to make the soothing sound so he could hear her voice, be grounded between the ugly carpet and the plain ceiling of their little house with the two other holes kicked in and covered up again on two other walls, victim to his fury.

By the time he was fully able to apologize, his mom was ready to pull something out of the oven, so he quickly set the table and then returned to the hall to set out the things they had bought from the store; he took another minute to sweep up the debris, and then sat at the table, rubbing his eyes with his hands and his nose with his sleeve, waiting. Dinner was quiet, with a little talk of what his dad had done at work; politely, they did not ask any questions or prod for any discussion from their sniffly, red-faced son.

After dinner, he collected the dishes and then helped his dad repair the hole.

Finally, he called Rey, about an hour before they would have met up, and told her he couldn't go out. Before he was able to offer an explanation, Rey huffed in a good-natured way and said, “We'll re-schedule, no biggie,” and for the first time that night, it really felt that way. Not a biggie.

 


	8. Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy is in his junior year at college, and today is the anniversary of a very hard thing.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second time I almost made myself cry. PS I'm updating all the earlier chapters to note which time period they are occurring in, so it's less confusing. Constance's nickname for Mercy is pronounced SeeSee.

Mercy remembers. Too much, sometimes.

There are details he can never shake, like the smell of a vanilla-toned perfume, the feel of lace between his small fingers, eyes drawing in the details- the carefully placed little holes, the swoops and curves- sometimes forgetting to blink. He also remembers an abundance of white, the lace and other things, and teal and turquoise. His mother's long blonde hair in an elaborate braid, the tail of it tickling his nose, when he was very, very, very small, too small to be able to remember, but he _does_. She had the same deep blue eyes, like water in the dark.

Sometimes he sees those eyes in the mirror, in a dark window, and wants to gouge them out of his head in a fit of melancholy.

Carissa Joy Madine, nee Tarkin, had been his whole world. Or at least, a huge part of it. He loved his father as well, and he adored his older sister, but he knew, even as a small child, that his mother truly _understood_ him; that she understood the something that was Other about him, that he himself could not yet name. They had their own language of gazes and sighs, and secret smirks and whispers.

_You're so smart, my darling. Too smart for your own good. Things will be tough sometimes, for you._

Today was the anniversary. It was his hardest day of the year.

_Don't worry, though. I will be with you._

He had already called Constance, pacing in the little room in his dorm, back and forth, the same seven feet, over and over and over, while Constance was calm and soothing and sweet to him while he tried to not to cry.

“I'm going to be twenty-four in a couple weeks, I can't- I shouldn't-”

“You know what you're doing, Cece. You don't have to say that stuff. It's okay to be sad- I'm sad, too.”

“Yeah... I know. I know... Sorry.”

“I have a long weekend coming up and I was thinking of coming up and visiting,” there was something about her voice, Mercy thought, that was typical of the restrained sorrow she felt, that was neediness, “I really want to see you.”

“Get ice cream?” he tried to laugh, but it was a wet sound and Constance knew why. She'd lost a mother, too, no matter how independent and strong-willed she'd been when they were kids- and still was.

She giggled back, “ _Yes_ , so much that it melts before we can eat it all.”

He knew she was also needing to check in with him, that she felt she had to. It didn't bother him like it used to. “Okay. We can do that. Um. I'm gonna lay down for a while- headache.”

“Me, too,” she answered, taking a deep breath, “Stop sending me twin migraines.”

“You are eight years older than me.”

“We are _practically twins_ , Cece.”

They got off the phone, then, and Mercy thought that Matt, his lab partner in the advanced computer technology class, would like his sister a lot. The thought passed through his mind like a breeze, couriering leaves and brambles that caught and tumbled and caught again; he didn't really know Matthew Kee all that well. He had noticed him the first day of the term, broad and blonde and with those cute, nerdy glasses. Somehow they were partners, somehow he had gone from being chilly to almost friendly over the last couple of weeks- because, Mercy, thought, he had made Matt laugh, and that had shifted things.

Shifted things slightly to the right, or to the left, or in a circle. He just had a feeling, a good one, about Matt, and he thought maybe-

Maybe-

He didn't know. He just knew this was the ten year anniversary, and it seemed like only yesterday that he was small and happy and curled up in his mother's lap, listening to her sing softly in German, French, and sometimes Gaelic. He turned out the lights and tightened the blinds, though they were still about as closed as they could be. He'd already taken a pain killer and a muscle relaxer (carefully researched, for hours and hours, so as not to make a mistake, like Carissa Joy had made).

Laying down, he was already feeling limp and foggy, like he had shed half of his body mass, was so light now he could float away. He pulled a pillow under his head and neck and held it with both hands. He had put a satchet of lavender underneath his mattress and the smell rose low and gentle while he let the high wash over him, slowly and deliberately drowning his migraine.

Everything had hurt so much then- inside and out. He couldn't eat, couldn't think. There was a harsh reality everywhere around him, but he moved through it as though dreaming. To think he would never rest his head in his mother's lap again. Even at thirteen, he would slink over and lay down his head, sometimes already crying, sometimes not. Sometimes just to be there, to rest.

When his mother smoothed her hand down the back of his head, ran her fingers through his tangles, nothing in the entire world could get him. No monster, real or imagined. The anxiety that bit at his ankles, the bullies in the high school that threatened him bodily harm. Missing Constance who was away at college and only visited once a month, sometimes not even for two full days.

His father worked so much, he was hardly around, but he knew he was loved, knew, in a way, that Crix knew his secrets. Knew what kind of damaged child he was. Knew but still spoiled him, still loved him. And he knew how much Crix loved Carissa, and why he always vanished on this day, too damaged himself by her absence to be present for his children; they had to be there for each other, instead, loved or not.

Mercy felt his muscles relax bit by bit by bit- the pillow was cool beneath his cheek, and he needed so much just to sleep this day out from under himself. Half-asleep, half-high, his brain sent strange signals down his spine, so that he felt like he was rocking, back and forth, to the beat of his slowing heart rate. Signals to his scalp that lied and reported a feeling, a tingling, like fingers smoothing down his copper hair.

_Mom liked my hair long. Mom said I looked like a faery. And Constance was a princess._

_But I'm seventeen, Mom!_

_You're never too old to be a princess, darling._

Her voice was always so soft, so melodic, like she was always waking from a good dream.

_Will I always be a faery, Mama?_

_Always, of course. As long as you want to be one._

Slipping away into unconsciousness, feeling cuddled close by his memories, all Mercy really wanted was to be nine again.

 


	9. Flower Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward to the middle of Spring- after another drop into escapism, Mercy decides to share his secret and give Matt the option to leave him for good.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY. Are you ready for some BACKSTORY and FEELINGS?

Several weeks after they've been dating on a mutually assured basis, Mercy has another bad day and puts himself down, unwilling to deal with the beautiful spring day and its birds and breezes and inconsiderate beauty in the face of his misery- and the next day, Matt calls.

Rather, he called for the fifth time, at one in the afternoon, and it was the first time Mercy actually woke to his muddy, unobtrusive ringer. They had agreed to meet that day, around ten, and by eleven, Matt was in a subtle panic. He had sent several texts, and the four prior calls had ended in three increasingly edgy voicemails.

( _Hey, Techie, it's ten-thirty and I'm at the coffee place. Um, I thought maybe you were just running late, but you haven't texted me back. It's not. An emergency. Just. [a pause] Um, yeah, just call me back when you can.)_

_(Techie, hey, it's Matt. Uh, obviously. I was just getting kind of worried. It's eleven thir- eleven forty-five. Are you okay? Is there something wrong? Sorry for bugging you. Was I wrong, were we not meeting today? Please call me. I- um. Call me, yeah.)_

_(...[The sound of clattering, buses running, crowds sussurating]... Oh-? Wait. Is it still going?...)_

_(Mercy. It's Matt. This is probably insane, but I'm in your dorm building. I'm just in the lobby in case you come down or come back or what- whatever. Did I do something? I'm really worried, baby, please text or call me. I'll be here for a while. I have some reading to do- um. Never mind, sorry. Call me.)_

And now, groggy, winded from sleeping so deep he can't now remember if he dreamed or if he didn't:

“Hello?” he croaked, not reading the screen of his mobile, not really opening his eyes, though there's something not right about the lighting. Something, his subconscious tries to tell him, is off.

“Mercy, oh, my god, is everything okay? I mean, are you okay?” Matt's voice was a little too loud, but it was good to hear it.

“Yeah... Matt,” Mercy blinked and rolled over; his hair slipped over his shoulders, tangled and getting in the way of his view of the screensaver that told him what time it was. “I just woke up- Oh, _no- Matt!_ I'm so sorry, oh, my god, I just woke up, are you mad at me? I am so, so, so sorry, I- I-”

“It's okay,” he could hear Matt exhale a long, relieved-sounding sigh. “I thought you were dead, I was freaking out. Sorry for blowing up your phone.”

Mercy froze, Matt's words bouncing around in his skull and sticking to all the the bad things he had been avoiding yesterday. His eyes got hot almost instantaneously.

“Techie?”

“Um... I... oh...”

“What's wrong? Mercy? Is everything okay?” Matt tried to keep his tone neutral, tried to keep the line of his worry and irritation from blurring. It was only a matter of time before his temper got the best of him, he _knew_ that, but he wanted so badly to be good for Mercy, to be warm and kind and patient. Or, if Mercy really wanted it, to be gone.

Though he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Still, his heart was _pounding_ , terrified.

“Are you on campus?” Mercy's voice was impossibly small.

“I'm in your building's lobby."

“You- you are?”

“I was... waiting for you. Sorry. I was worried.”

“You were worried about me,” Mercy breathes this out not quite a question, not quite a statement. Yesterday came and went. It's just any old Friday now. And he had made plans with his... boyfriend person. “I'm so sorry. Can you come up? I'll... I'll explain.”

Matt was already stuffing his book and the notepad on to which he'd been scribbling occasional notes into his backpack, crumpling stray papers as he went. “Yeah- yeah, I'm on my way.”

Moments later, Mercy was opening the door to the dorm he shared with three other classmates, eyes down and shoulders hunched. Matt dropped his bag on the couch and hesitated before reaching for Mercy's arms. “Can I hug you? You look like you need a hug.”

The redhead glanced up; he didn't know how shaken and wild he looked, with his eyes rimmed in red from allergies and crying, and his hair wild from deep sleep. He looked as though he'd been found, finally, after wandering in a forest for a week. Matt was so confused, but this was his _one good thing_ , that he didn't want to fuck up, to lose, and if Mercy was on the edge of cutting him loose: Then he was going to hold on as tight as he was able.

Mercy nodded, already leaning in to receive it, tilting his cheek against Matt's shoulder and just breathing breathing breathing, until breathing was too much, too much like knives scratching all along his lungs and down his throat. His hands rode up Matt's back, grabbing up fistfuls of an esoteric Star Trek shirt. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to flake on you.”

“It's okay, I was just really worried. I think I texted you, like, eight times. Sorry.”

Mercy shook his head, squeezing tight against Matt's perfect broad chest as though he were trying to escape into it. For a long moment, he only held on, trying to capture that feeling of being anchored, of being safely moored. Gradually, it settled down his spine, lulled by the feeling of Matt rocking them back and forth in tiny circles, rubbing his palms up and down Mercy's back. It felt too soon to burden Matt with his big sadness, with his forever healing pain. But Matt was owed an explanation- and-

-And it didn't seem like Matt was mad at him, just maybe upset from being worried. Which wasn't the worst thing.

“Here, um, sit down,” Mercy mumbled, pulling away with extreme reluctance. Matt looked stricken, eyes large behind his glasses as they sat, facing each other, their knees knocked slightly together. “Yesterday, um, was a bad day for- for me. And. And I took- I needed to take, a cyclobenzaprine. And a hydro.”

“A hydro. What is that?”

“Hydrocodone five-three-twenty-five,” Mercy was still mumbling, honestly felt a bit foggy yet. Though, thank god, his headache was gone. Matt's face was a sincere expression of having no understanding. “Vicodin. Sorry. I never think of them by brand name.”

“Okay, sure. What's the other one?”

“Cyclo- it's a muscle relaxant. It helps my anxiety when it's at its... worst. Its worst,” Mercy took another breath, “I forgot to set an alarm, it's my fault. I swear I didn't mean to stand you up, I promise.”

Matt reached out to lay his hand again on Mercy's. It was the safest thing he knew how to do, the gentlest comfort. “I was just really worried. I probably overreacted. You can just delete all the voicemails... I should have brought you coffee.”

Mercy let out a sharp giggle, the one Matt heard when he said something that meant Mercy was startled by the feeling of being amused, by that vulnerability coming from nowhere. He rubbed his thumb along the soft, rosy skin of Mercy's knuckles, relieved that this conversation seemed to not be going anywhere near, 'This isn't working. Goodbye.'

The redhead stared, unfocused, at their joined hands, his eyes flickering sometimes with wetness. Matt kept his mouth shut, stamping down his instinct to be impatient.

“You have a car, right?”

Matt nodded, “Yeah, it's in the lot by the cafeterium.”

“Would you... Would you want to take me, um, some-somewhere?”

“Yeah, sure. Where?"

Mercy stood up, patting down his lounge pants though there was no hair or dust clinging to them, “You don't have class, though, right?”

“Already had it. Wherever we're going, though, we'll need to stop for food. I didn't eat.”

Mercy stared, eyes wide and apologetic. They were supposed to get brunch at the cafe. Tea and sandwiches and fruit. It was going to be very romantic.

They had been dating for... three, four months? Spring term would be over soon. The rain had already petered off, the weather had been getting nicer and nicer for weeks. It might be a good idea, or it might be terrible. Mercy curled his toes in sudden anxiety. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm just glad you're okay. You... you are okay?” Matt lifted his hand to stroke the side of Mercy's cheek, where his rounded jaw made him look younger than he actually was. Mercy tilted his cheek toward Matt's hand, like a cat, and closed his eyes. He nodded before pulling away.

“Yeah. Basically okay. I need to take a quick shower, though. My hair is fucking gross,” he pulled a lank strand to illustrate his point, and Matt smiled before swooping in to kiss his forehead.

“I'll wait out here. Take your time.”

 

* * *

 

They made their way through the quad roughly an hour later, Mercy having come out of the shower so clean and pink and new that Matt had had to kiss him very thoroughly before he had the chance to even get dressed. Mercy kept his hands in his sweater pocket to keep from holding Matt's hand. There were plenty of same gender couples on campus, out and about and rarely harassed, but he wasn't quite ready to make the announcement. He was terrified of being caught alone, of giving his enemies ammunition.

Matt didn't seem to mind, content to play the world's most innocent games of footsie underneath tables. To steal kisses in his dorm, to hold him tight in the little single-person bed.

They drove from the school through a fast food joint, and then on to their next destination. Mercy fed Matt fries, three or four at a time, so that he could keep both hands on the wheel during the heavy traffic. The radio was on a country station, which Mercy found surprising. Although he supposed it wasn't as odd as anything else Matt could be listening to: He was most accustomed to nerds that listened to EDM or metal and almost nothing in between.

“It's what my mom likes. I grew up listening to it,” Matt explained as they flew down the freeway, still accepting his food bite by torn bite as Mercy fed him (he tried to keep it together, but his heart was so swollen with happiness at this gesture, that he thought he might cry). “The funny thing is, I don't really like what they're putting out now, I only really like the stuff we listened to while I was little.”

“So. The only, like, first fifteen years of your life?”

“Pretty much.”

Finally, they arrived at the park that Mercy wanted to be at. He stared through the window. The chicken sandwich and fries felt like stones in his guts now, heavy and gnashing together.

“Shit,” he murmured, covering his face with his hands and breathing through his fingers.

“Techie?”

“It's okay... I'm okay,” he stepped out of the little blue sedan and stretched his legs, feeling shaky. Not much had changed. The park he and his sister had been taken to as kids was still fairly clean and grassy. There were a large number of trees, ducks ambling near a pond, and a spacious, multi-leveled play structure that would surely be a dream if one was shorter than four feet tall. Mercy wandered past the main park and toward the pond; ducks scattered as he drew close, but he fairly well ignored them. He could feel Matt following him quietly, respectfully waiting.

He came to a stop near a tree where daisies were growing in abandon, untended and unfettered.

Matt sat with him, briefly resting his hand on Mercy's knee before letting both of his hands hang in his lap. He watched as Mercy plucked several flowers from the ground and starting winding them together. It took two false starts, but, like riding a bicycle, the process came back to him within good time.

“When we were small, Mom would bring us to this park. We used to live,” he glanced up and looked around, “Um, over in that direction. In the development.”

Matt let out a low whistle. The houses in that area, while not monstrously expensive, were not cheap.

“My sister liked to sit in the swings and read, or she'd sit with Mom if other kids wanted to swing. I would walk around the structure, hide in the slides. Um. I liked to pretend it was my castle and I had to patrol to keep it safe from dragons and invaders.”

Matt watched a pale, fetching blush warm across Mercy's nose as he shared. He kept his gaze down, now, focusing on his chain of flowers. He asked, “Her name is Constance, right?”

“Constance Quinn,” Mercy glanced up for a split second, grinning.

They sat in silence for a few slow, easy minutes; Matt began to pluck the flowers _for_ Mercy, so that he could be involved and make his partner feel heard even while he said nothing.

“You remember back during fall term... I skipped a few days?”

“Yeah. You said you were sick.”

Mercy nodded, this shoulder tight as he curled more carefully over his work, “I was. In a way. I slept a lot. Stayed under a lot.”

“What... does that mean?” Matt tried to ask it as carefully as he could, looking at Mercy through his own eyelashes

“The drugs. The ones that 'put me under' so it's easier to... deal with things. Anxiety things.”

“Right, okay.” Though Matt had no way of knowing for sure, Mercy's small, complacent smile seemed like a good indicator that he was saying the right things. He knew about being depressed, still dealt with it, himself, on occasion.

“So... that was the anniversary of. Of. Mom. My mom,” Mercy leaned forward until he was nearly in half over his crossed legs, the weave of flowers pressing against his stomach. “Matt.”

The blonde scooted closer, reaching with both hands to touch Mercy's tight, tight shoulders. “Hey, it's okay.”

“I saw a lady who looked _so much_ like her,” Mercy whispered, hoarse, as though he were gasping. Gradually, he sat up, the feeling of Matt's thumbs in his trapezium muscles still echoing under his skin. “Sorry, I'm sorry. Fuck.”

“Baby, it's okay. Hey. I... I don't understand like you do, but I promise it's okay. To be upset, I mean. I'm with you.”

Mercy sniffed, then sneezed. He laughed, low and light. “I forgot to take my allergy medication.”

Matt only smiled and handed him another daisy. When the circlet was done, Mercy let it settle on Matt's short curls and took a photo. Saying nothing, Matt placed the flowers on to Mercy's head and took a photo on his own phone. “That's my new contact photo for you.”

Mercy laughed. It was the third time Matt had said that. It was still sweet. Still made his heart leap and a flutter. The blonde stood, brushing the back of his jeans before offering both of his hands to the fey redhead watching him with considering blue eyes. Pulling him to his feet, Matt kissed his forehead and brought him close, just for a moment.

Mercy let him do it, light blooming in his chest at the sheer depth of Matt's goodness for him. “I shouldn't.”

Matt moved away, smiling a small, easy smile. “Okay.”

“No,” he toed the grass. He seemed to have forgotten his flower crown and only worried at the hem of his shirt. “The pills. I shouldn't. I. My mom. Shit, god. Fuck.”

Matt watched Mercy turn in a small circle, looking first at the water, then the sky. Concern nipped at him, warning. He caught one of Mercy's small hands and brought it close, just in between them. “You don't have to. Tell me. If you don't want.”

Mercy shook his head, “I want to. I just. I'm worried. And it wouldn't be your fault- I wouldn't blame you!”

“Wouldn't blame me for what?”

Mercy's voice was soft, inconceivably sad. “For wanting to leave me. After.”

The blonde held on more tightly, more insistently. Now applying aggressive eye contact, trying to psychically imprint his feelings directly into Mercy's worried mind. “That's not going to happen. Whatever it is, I won't leave you. I... I _care_ about you.”

Mercy flushed, catching the re-route and in awe of it. “I...” he started, but couldn't say any more.

“No one is around,” Matt said quietly, drawing Mercy in for another hug. He held it for longer, smelling the shampoo that Mercy had used, the body wash, and possibly the daisies, or some other secret scent.

Held close, Mercy felt strangely safe. Unreasonably sheltered. He took a deep breath. “My mother died of an accidental overdose when I was thirteen. She was taking the same kind of things I take, but higher doses, more frequently. She wasn't careful. Her _doctor_ wasn't careful.”

Matt held him more tightly, rocking slightly.

“I. Matt- I. She was my best friend. And I- I didn't think I could. I could live- w-without her, so I... I _found_ her, she was just _laying_ there, and sh-she was _cold_.”

“Oh, sweetheart...”

“I took them, too. I took so many. I tried to _follow_ her, Mattie, don't you understand?”

“Of course I do,” Matt said, hating himself for the thrill of delight that went through him at being called 'Mattie' by this singular person. He squeezed Mercy tight, thwarting the little struggle the redhead put forth, as though he were expecting to be rebuffed, rebuked. “I'm so, so glad you didn't manage it. I'm so happy you're here with me.”

“You're not... mad? Grossed out? I still take those kinds of things, Mattie, when I know I shouldn't... but if I _don't_...”

“I'm not any of those things,” Matt felt Mercy relaxing, bit by bit, in his arms. Felt him reach with shaking hands for the back of his red shirt. “I'm just glad you're here now. And I know you're being careful. You're taking care of yourself the best you know how. But...”

Mercy stiffened in the circle of protection, terror clear in his spine and shoulders and stomach.

Matt pet his hair with one hand, still swaying slightly, like a daisy. “But you've got _me_ now, so you don't have to do it by yourself. Okay?”

“I was in psychiatric care for three years...”

“I'm glad you're here with me now.”

“I didn't leave my house for almost three years after _that_...”

“ _Baby_ ,” Matt said, then kissed his forehead again, his temples, his cheeks, and his nose. “Look, look at me. Listen. I'm so proud of you. For coming out on the other side of that. You're amazing. I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to go. Please, please believe me. I think you're incredible. I think you're beautiful, and strong. Do you believe me?”

He brought both hands up to cup Mercy's red cheeks, swiped his thumbs over the purplish skin beneath his partner's agitated eyes. Mercy blinked, fast, in distraction. His eyes were wet.

“Do you believe me?”

Slowly, Mercy began to nod, and Matt kissed him, carefully, meaningfully, once again on the forehead, feeling the soft tangle of little white flowers against his nose, and then his cheek. “I'm with you,” he whispered, determined to hold the other young man tight until he could never be convinced otherwise.

“Come on, let's get you home.”

“Home?"

“First we're going to go get your allergy pills. Then we're going to my parents' place. They've been dy- begging to meet you. Um- though. You don't have to if you don't want to. I just thought. It would be nice.”

Mercy's eyes seemed to _sparkle_ in the afternoon light, reflecting a thousand happy things. He began to nod more enthusiastically- grabbed Matt's hand and tugged him back toward the car. “ _Yes_ ,” he said, “Yes, I'd love to. Let's go.”

Matt wanted to tell him how amazing he thought he was, how special and trusted he felt for Mercy having shared such a huge secret, such an incredible burden. But it could wait. First, allergy medication and good food with his parents- he couldn't wait for them to see this amazing person who had found him, who had put up with him until he thawed.

Who wanted to be with him, after everything was said and done, and said and done again.

And who still wore a flower crown, like a prince or a princess, wandering the halls of their castle in search of even one friend with whom to share it all.

 


	10. Balloons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The apartment is almost ready, but it needs a little bit more before the soiree. Rey and Finn to the rescue.  
> [Present Days]  
> [flashback to College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I challenge you to guess who ordered which drink. 
> 
> PS I of course love and support Stormpilot, but I just love FinnRey, I really do

Rey and Finn have to come help with it all; between work and sleep over the past week, Matt and Mercy couldn't have accomplished it all. Not without help. So, the day before the housewarming, Finn and Matt are arguing in the kitchen, amicably somehow, over how to best prep the sides and how to best marinate the turkey. Mercy and Rey are shoulder to shoulder in the living room, both scanning the instructions to the last piece of furniture that needs assembling.

Mercy had been so, so nervous to first meet Rey. It was obvious Matt thought the absolute world of her, and it wasn't as though he lacked reason: She was lovely, sweet, smart, and tough as nails. Rey was the perfect woman, probably the perfect human. This Mercy had rambled while sitting in his bed, picking at the skin around his nails while they waited for her to get out of class, just a handful of years ago.

They had been dating for only a few weeks at this point, and Mercy had successfully dodged meeting her for the last two. Matt was putting his foot down.

“What if she doesn't like me? What if she thinks I'm not good enough for you?”

“Hey, c'mon. That's not going to happen. You're... you're _great_ , she's going to like you as much as I like you. She'll be your friend, too. Promise.”

And Matt had been right. Rey had seemed to know exactly what to say to put him at ease, and was just as silly and irreverent and funny as Matt. Mercy could tell they had been friends for a _long_ time. And, while Matt left to get refills on their drinks, she had smiled, warm like the sun, and said, “He hasn't shut up about you since you started hanging out. I can see why.”

Blushing and flustered, he had mumbled, “He's been really sweet to me...”

Rey had only beamed in response, shouting happily when Matt came back with their drinks: a brass monkey, a white Russian, and an amaretto sour.

Now, shoulder to shoulder, it felt like they had always been friends. She stretched, her spine cracking, and twisted to look at the broad men bustling in the kitchen. “Mmm, look at them.”

Finn was wearing a pink, frilled apron, the short sleeves of his black tee shirt stretched almost sinfully around his biceps while he peeled carrots. Matt, in the garden floral apron, was mashing potatoes by hand, his jaw set in determination, and the muscles of his back rolling like thunder.

“Um,” Mercy mumbled, looking, guilty, at the floor, before glancing at Rey, “They're working pretty hard.”

Rey threw her head back, laughing so loudly that the cooks on the other side of the breakfast bar both turned to stare. Finn was such a sweet sport, he didn't need to know what the joke was: Rey laughing all wide mouth and teeth set him laughing, and Mercy couldn't help but giggle because the men _were_ gorgeous, weren't they. Matt, especially, who caught his eye and smiled a little smile just for Mercy.

Some hours later, maybe two or three, the group called the mission: The furniture was complete, arranged, and looking homey. The sides were resting in the fridge, the turkey soaking in its own goodness. Matt would have to get up at four the next morning to babysit it, but he claimed to be looking forward to it, and to showing Finn that he knew what he was talking about- it was his mother's recipe.

“We need to put the decorations up,” Mercy said, quietly, to Matt. He had an inch of Matt's sleeve pinched in his hand, needing suddenly to be close.

“They're still in Rey's car,” Matt saw the sleepy lift of Mercy's eyelids, the slight irritation at the corners of his eyes where he couldn't help but react to the pollen and cottonwood fluff that drifted through the city.

Matt went to ask for her keys to fetch the streamers and things they had purchased, giggling, at the party store earlier, but she waved her hand and left with Finn to get the bags herself. As soon as she was out of the door, Matt rushed back to his partner and swept him off his feet, into a sudden and unbalanced bridal carry.

Mercy shrieked, taken completely off guard, and wrapped his arms around Matt's neck while he spun them in a circle in the center of the living room. Matt slowed, relishing the feeling of Mercy hiding his face in his neck, his breathless giggles petering as they came to a stop in front of the entertainment system, the couch. The coffee table was still pushed to the side from Rey and Mercy working, and it was a good thing for Matt's sudden boisterousness.

How was he so strong? Mercy wasn't weightless, wasn't a feather- but Matt held him close as if he were, as if it were nothing to stand and rock him like a living hammock.

“Mattie,” he said, dazed, just looking into his partner's face and touching his jaw.

“We're almost done, baby,” he said, wrinkling his nose to get his glasses back onto the right part of his nose, post-centrifugal force. “We'll go to bed soon, you and me. And I'll cuddle you until I have to get up.”

“I'll get up with you,” Mercy said softly, still aloft, still tracking his fingers across the fine five o'clock shadow that spreads across Matt's cheek.

“You don't have to do that, sweetheart.”

“I want to.”

Finally, Matt levered Mercy back down to his own feet. They stepped out onto the little entryway that in some small way could be considered a porch, and saw their bags waiting out on the ground below, by the car. Against the trunk, Finn leaned with his feet planted firm, and far apart, to make room for Rey, who leaned into him and kissed him slow and sweet.

Matt whistled, ruining it- but Finn laughed and Mercy hid his smile behind his hand while Rey huffed and grabbed the decorations.

Another two hours went by, night creeping along at its Spring pace. The St Patrick's streamers and curlicues and clovers looked absurd, and had nothing to do with basic housewarmings, but they were so _fun_ , no one thought twice. Yawning, Rey hugged them both, and then Finn hugged them both, and they headed out. Matt watched them leave in her coupe before locking the door and turning off the outside light; when he turned around, he saw Mercy in a heap on the couch, his head on one arm and only one leg pulled up on the middle cushion. The string of a balloon was wrapped around his index finger, and he absentmindedly jerked at it to make the green balloon pop down and back up again.

He tilted his chin when Matt went to sit beside his partner's feet, resting one big hand on his knee. “I'm _so_ glad we didn't have to blow them all up.”

“They wouldn't float without helium,” Mercy said, almost dreamily, watching the balloon drift to the ceiling when he let the string unwind.

Matt only rubbed his thumb into the skin of Mercy's kneecap, snorting. “We would blow up balloons and tie them together. Then we'd pin or tape them wherever.”

“Oh,” Mercy said, eyelids drooping, “I'm sorry, I misunderstood.”

“You're fine,” Matt crooned, “You're tired.”

The redhead only nodded, lifting one hand to paw at Matt's warm wrist. He knew what that meant. “Again?” he said, quietly because Mercy's eyes were closing, his breath coming slow from deep in his belly. The littlest nod- Matt smiled and reached for the other man, picking him up like it was nothing. Mercy wrapped his legs around Matt's waist, toeing off his socks and letting them drop one after the other in the hall. They were green, too, like the balloons.

The housewarming was going to be fun.

They stripped down to undershirts and boxer briefs, the sheets still so new. Matt set his alarm while Mercy sank into the mattress, limp. The blonde turned out the light and sat on the bed, just gazing at the redhead's slender back. He ran his knuckles up and down Mercy's spine, earning a low, faraway moan, a purr. This was it. This was the man he was going to grow old with. There was no doubt in his mind. This apartment, the next, a house, another. A whole new city, even. Wherever Mercy went, he would follow. Would carry him if he needed.

He flushed hot all the way from his ears to his chest, thinking, _I would carry him over the threshold._

_If we..._

_If he wanted._

_I think he would._

“I want to,” Matt whispered, so soft and low Mercy didn't respond, only breathed in deep as Matt leaned over him to kiss the top of his spine, where his beautiful copper hair parted on either side of his neck. One day, maybe. Hopefully. He stretched out alongside his favorite person in the whole world, already so close to passing out, and drew him close, warm against his chest. First thing was first.

A good night's rest followed by an unnecessarily complicated dinner plan.

Other future plans- as wonderful as he knew they might be- could wait. They had time. Still, as he slipped out of consciousness, the smell of Mercy's shampoo sweet near his nose, he began to dream of flowers, of a cake and dancing... Of streamers and balloons; these white, for another kind of celebration entirely.

 


	11. Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turkey business is serious business.  
> [Present Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far the shortest, and there's really not a whole lot of cooking. Whoops.
> 
> Also, the drink orders from the last chapters are: Rey had the Brass Monkey, Matt had the White Russian, and Techie had the amaretto sour.

At four in the morning, sharp and dark grey, Matt's alarm went off with a series of awful tones and beeps. Mercy rolled up immediately, eyes not quite open. He stumbled over a sweater left on the floor on his side, but recovered. It was _so early_. He left the alarm squawking, using the restroom before heading for the kitchen to start the coffee machine.

They hadn't cleaned it out the night before, so it was a few minutes discarding grounds and rinsing the basket before he was in the business of actually brewing. He was bracing himself against the edge of the counter, head hanging, just listening and smelling the drips as they gained momentum, when Matt shuffled in, carrying the sweater.

He leaned over Mercy's bowed back, kissing the back of his head and then his shoulder, handing the sweater over by bringing it on front of his partner's nose. Mercy took it, pulled it on, and drooped again against the counter. “Oh, my god, _fuck_ ,” he mumbled.

Matt chuckled, running his hand along Mercy's back before heading to the stove, then the fridge.

A few of the balloons had drifted into the kitchen area, a few of their shiny strings tangled by the breakfast bar. While Matt got his cooking underway, Mercy went and collected them, taking them back into the living room; while there, he pulled the coffee table back where it was supposed to be. He glanced at the couch. It looked soft, cozy, warm. Mrs Kee had bought them a hand-made afghan, and it was draped over the back of the sofa like a promise of deep rest. He sighed and meandered back into the kitchen.

Matt had the floral apron back on, not even remotely self-conscious. His feet were in the slippers that matched the ones Mercy had bought for him, Matt's dad Owen, and his own father. It had delighted both Matt and Owen Kee when Mercy had shyly asked them to open the gifts at the same time.

The coffee maker clicked finished and Mercy went to it gratefully, yawning. Matt closed the door to the stove, stretched, then accepted the coffee- just a bit of sugar, a fourth cup of milk- before leading Mercy into the living room. Without saying a word, he turned on the television, the console that played blu-rays, and the small side lamp that he had insisted they buy because it was 'unique,' which really meant 'ugly, but I really love that about it.'

They curled together while the opening music to the Lord of The Rings swelled quietly into the room. Matt set another alarm for his phone- two hours away. It was going to be a long day, and Mercy, wrapped around Matt's free arm, feet sticking out of the afghan, was already blinking heavily over his half cup of coffee, half cup of fancy creamer.

Guests would start to arrive around noon; until then, they could wrap each other up and doze against the backdrop of a slow, steady dawn, the warmth of cheap coffee, and their own beating hearts.

And, every two hours, Matt was going to fuss with his turkey, because he was going to make his mother proud and by _god_ , show Finn who was the boss.

 


	12. AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is an oversized first year at a magical school with _a lot_ of expectations riding on his first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a cop-out; I was going to do kylux for this (so meta! au-ception!), but I just couldn't figure what/how.  
> PS idk if you guys notice, but no matter what I'm writing for them, Techie is always two years older than Matt. That's just how it is for me, guys.

No.

No.

_No._

There had to be some mistake. Matt stared out at all the long tables and candles and faces. Some disinterested, some rapt. Ben and Kylo: Their jaws both dropped. Armitage, Kylo's friend, hit him in the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. It couldn't have been good, though, Matt thought, from the look on his regal face.

This _could not_ be happening.

Shell-shocked, he walked over to the Hufflepuff table. There, he was met with warm sets of hands clapping him on the back, enthusiastic hugs, and a cheer of friendly voices. He stared at his feet, furious with himself. He should have argued, should have railed- but. His mind had gone quiet under the hat, had gone still, and it was over before he knew it. There were no do-overs.

He sat heavily at the end of the table, most of his housemates now giving him a wide berth. He supposed his reaction wasn't unusual. Hufflepuff wasn't a popular house. Never really had been. He wanted to see what Ben and Kylo were doing, but all the same, he didn't. With Ben it wouldn't be so bad, he was a sixth year, would be too busy to tease him all that much. But Kylo was a fourth year and would have _plenty_ of time to drag him through the mud. He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, pushed his glasses up on his nose.

To his left, almost on the very end of the last bench, a figure slipped into his peripheral view. It was another student, of course, in robes that were obviously finely made, but not ostentatious. The student was wearing a yellow scarf, its ends a bit frazzled.

“Um,” the figure said, voice high and soft. Matt glanced over, slightly downward. The other student was hunched, and looked roughly his own age. He or she had to be at least a second year or older, though, having not been in the queue. And Matt was sure he would have noticed, because they had longish, coppery hair that stood apart from everyone else almost as much as his own unique lineaments.

“What?” he said, more brusquely than he really meant to be.

The other student, nervous it seemed, reached into one of their pockets and pulled out a scrap of parchment. They laid it on the grainy table, where years' worth of magicked-over graffiti was carved. They spread it flat, close to the edge and close to out of sight from their peers. Matt thought then that this person was a boy, because their hands, while small, looked knobbier and hardier than most girls' hands he'd seen.

Still fuming somewhat, he watched as the other boy put his fingertips on the bottom of the page, hanging on to the edge of the table while he did. The banquet was starting, it was _loud_ , and the food that had appeared smelled amazing- Matt grabbed a warm bread roll, biting into it with agitation.

_I think I know you._

The words appeared on the top of the parchment scrap, lighting up briefly before subsiding in a gold-ish script, neither neat nor particularly illegible. He slowed in his chewing. Leaning forward to check the boy's other side, he saw no evidence of a wand in sight. The boy flushed, avoiding the subsequent eye contact.

_You're Kylo's brother. Right? Armitage is my older brother. I saw you once at send-off._

_You're so tall._

Matt choked on his roll, taken completely off guard. He tried to cover his embarrassment by whispering, “How are you _doing_ that?”

 _Practice_. The words lit up a bit more brightly, perhaps glowing along with the reddish stain highlighting his housemate's freckles. Matt had to say it out loud: “I was supposed to be in Slytherin. Almost my whole family was- you know. A Slytherin.”

He wasn't expecting the reply that lit up the scrap between them. _Me, too. Hermit didn't talk to me the whole first week of my first year. It was. Um._

The words stalled and stopped. The redhead had lifted his fingers from the paper, was now fussing with his scarf.

“What's your name?” Matt asked carefully, totally distracted from his earlier anger.

“Mercy,” the other boy said quietly, “I'm a third year.”

“Okay.”

Matt waited for him to take food, but he only worried at the ragged edge of his scarf. “Aren't you hungry?”

He shrugged, an awkward move that made Matt see for the first time how thin and willowy his classmate was. “Here, have some of mine,” he pushed his plate between them, covering the upper half of the parchment. It had been his impulse, from sharing with his muggle friend Poe who _loved_ some of the odder treats that the wizarding world had to offer. Of course, sharing wizarding world treats with Poe was a consummate secret, and certainly had _nothing_ to do with having kind-of-a-little-bit-not-really-crush on the older boy.

He was surprised, then, when Mercy took one of the extra bread rolls that Matt had grabbed, pausing before dragging it through a small puddle of gravy coming off his Leeds Wraith potatoes- the fancy kind grown in total darkness. _Thank you_ appeared next on the parchment, this time the redhead had only his index finger touching its edge.

Matt glanced at him again, thinking he did look rather a lot like Armitage, and maybe he _had_ noticed him too, a little bit, last year when they were waiting on the platform. He'd been rather consumed with jealousy at the time, when Kylo and his friend, who were always griping at each other, yet couldn't go two days without owling one another at the very least, were showing off their very nice new satchels and ties and shoes and books and everything else.

“Can you show me how to do that?” he asked, shy suddenly, hunching in his shoulders to feel less giant, less obvious.

But the redhead only smiled- a blazing, radiant change that nearly knocked Matt out of his unfortunately Slytherin-themed socks. His green eyes were suddenly so bright, the flush on his neck still glaring even under the soft light of the candles. “Yeah, definitely.”

More glowing letters, _It takes a lot of time, though._

Matt grinned. That was just fine by him.


	13. Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backing up to right before they move into their first apartment. Matt plans a surprise (and Rey & Finn help, as always).  
> [Present Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTINUITY. Listen here. Just listen. No. Not today.  
> (As in, I mentioned they have this cat in that one chapter, and then forgot to include her in subsequent chapters. Whoops.)

“Rey, okay, thanks for meeting me,” Matt ducked into Rey's ridiculously tiny coupe, closing the door with a loud _thunk_ and stuffing a small duffel bag under his seat.“You know that pet place on Farmer?”

“By the big car wash?” she asked, waiting for him to be properly buckled before she pulled away from the curb.

“Yeah, they're doing an adoption special event _thing_ with the humane society. We have to go there immediately.”

“Without- your boyfriend?”

Matt turned wide brown eyes to his best friend, holding onto the little handle that hung over the passenger side window. “Obviously.”

“Does he...” she pulled onto the freeway to cut past the bulk of the city, which was the fastest way to get from Matt's family home in the country area to _anywhere_ reasonable in less than a half hour. “Not like pets? Also, is your car broken or something?”

The giant man in her tiny car straightened his shoulders, turning slightly in his seat to face her. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Um, yeah, _obviously_ , you lug-nut.”

“Mercy has a pinterest account.”

“Okay. And?” though her voice was calm, she rolled down her window long enough to flip off a much larger car that whipped around them, easily thirty miles over the freeway limit.

“Well, he's embarrassed, I guess. But when he's stressed out, he goes on there and he pins pictures of animals.”

Rey glanced his direction for a fraction of a second, her voice like honey as she cooed in earnest, “Oh, my gosh, that is so _cute-_ marry him immediately.”

“Right. Um, well.”

She laughed at him, then, shaking her head. Her hair was up in a large bun, a braid wrapped around its perimeter. “Okay, finish telling me, come on.”

“You're so impatient-!”

“-I'm driving you!”

“So?! Let me finish. Well of course I've seen his boards, he's very organized, and our new apartment-”

“The one you're supposed to be packing for?”

“Rey, I swear to god, why are you like this.”

The brunette laughed over the steering wheel, gleeful, before bringing the car into the exit lane; Matt huffed, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “Well. Anyway. He has, and I am not making this up, an entire _board_ for just orange cats. Orange cats and kittens. So I saw on their website that they _have_ some orange cats at this event, and so here we are.”

“In my car?” Rey pulled into the public parking lot some blocks away from their goal.

“Yeah. He's like, a super sleuth. He notices everything. I can't keep a cat hidden for three days, but if I don't get this cat _now_ I don't know when I'm gonna get another opportunity. And you know, he's been kind of moody lately, and I just don't- I don't know why? Anyway, I don't want there to even be hairs. If he notices, I'll panic. I'll just tell him the truth, Rey.”

“Jesus, Matt,” Rey snorted, locking the car while Matt leaned over its roof, staring at her with his puppy dog look. “Okay, if you think adopting a fur baby will make him happy, I am here for it. Also, I am the godmother. Or auntie. Either is fine.”

An hour later, Matt had a carrier under one arm and three bags of food, toys, treats, and another forty dollars worth of gear he thought they might need in the other. Rey packed a bag of food and a bag of litter in one arm, wrestling a three story cat tree in the other.

“This is absurd!” she moaned jostling the heavy bags against her hip before dropping them entirely by the side of the car. Miraculously, the food remained sealed, but a small tear worked its way along the bottom of the litter. “Ah. Well, we'll just store it upside-down, that's fine.”

The kitten yowled as Matt settled the carrier in the backseat, a tiny and ridiculous sound of mourning. “We just need to get her to the animal boarding place and it's all done. I'll have to change at your place.”

“Matt, are you literally daft, come on,” They both slid back into the little green coupe, buckling in near-unison. “The cat can stay with me for a couple days, it's _fine._ ”

“Oh- really? I mean, you don't have to...” Matt adjusted his glasses, self-conscious but feeling very lucky for a friend like the one he had in her.

“Peanut, everything else is staying there, why not the cat, too? Besides, she'll be going to a new environment, and this way she already knows what stuff is hers.”

She drove the car back on to the freeway, her stomach growling. “Make me some food when we get there and I won't even make you vacuum my car.”

Matt grinned, already thinking ahead to the day after their move-in, when he would surprise Mercy and, hopefully, see him smile. “It's a deal,” he said, already checking for stray orange hairs.

* * *

 

The day after the move-in, when much of their combined life is still in boxes, Matt calls Rey, who brings Finn. Her boyfriend asks Mercy to accompany him to the little family eatery they all like so much. The redhead is slightly confused by this plan, but Rey assures him it's fine, she needs to talk to Matt about her master's project while the food gets squared away.

The sneaky two watched, then, through the blinds, not subtle at all, until the other half of their couplehood turn the corner and are out of sight.

“Go go go!” Rey squealed, throwing open the front door and zipping down the stairs with Matt hot on her heels.

They set the cat tree in the first corner of the living room, not likely to be seen right away, the bulk of the gear goes in the kitchen, on the floor, and the cat, in her carrier, goes in the bedroom. They are both on the kitchen floor de-packaging the incredible load of cat things when Finn opens the door and brings in the first part of some _really_ good-smelling food.

Before Mercy can wander into the kitchen and see the mess, and see all of the clues, Matt jumps up and grabs the food his partner is carrying, handing it off to Rey. Suspicious, Mercy lets him- confused by the twin looks of glee that Matt and Rey sport, and the satisfied smirk that Finn flashes.

Matt pulls his hands toward the bedroom, “I have to show you something, baby, come with me.”

Predictably, Mercy flushes- it is surely not _that_ , they have _company_ , but still. To the bedroom? Why?

Matt opens and closes the bedroom door, pecking the redhead's lips before letting him properly survey the room. On the bed. A carrier-

“No,” Mercy breathes, stunned. Matt almost panics, but he sees that this No is from _awe_ and surprise, not abject refusal. He goes to it, almost weaving; Matt watches as his favorite person kneels next to the bed and brings the carrier close, unlocking it and letting the door swing open.

He had been worried the kitten would be too shy, would need coaxing or full-on extraction from its little safe house, but it toddles out with a little baby shriek and plows immediately into Mercy's forehead. The redhead is silent, biting his lower lip over one of the biggest grins he's ever seen him try to hide.

His left arm is draped in a half circle on the bed, his head resting against his shoulder as the puffy orange kitten, with its stubby, antennae-like tail sticking straight in the air, backs up and slams back into Mercy's face. Her little paws walk up the side of his jaw, as though she intends to stride right up and over. He laughs, bringing his arms together to scoop her up.

He hasn't said anything yet, though, so in spite of the happy face Matt sees, he begins to ramble: “She's up-to-date on her vaccinations. Um, and she has a little tracking chip if she ever runs away. No worms, uh, no fleas...”

“She's a girl?” Mercy is holding her between both of his hands, while she mews and paws at his face.

“Yeah,” the relief that Matt feels over Mercy ostensibly being in acceptance of this gift is beyond words. It is as though two hundred bags of fancy cat litter have been lifted from his shoulders.

“Does she have a name?”

“No, not yet. I-- well, I thought maybe you'd like to name her.”

“Oh, Mattie,” his partner wobbles to his feet, not using his hands so that he doesn't have to put down the little screaming cheeto, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I'm happy you're happy,” Matt sighs, tucking Mercy against his side, kissing the top of his head while the other man runs his thumbs along her face. “Do you have a name in mind?”

“Oh, it's Millie, of course, just look at her,” Mercy lifts the kitten closer to his face, and she takes a wild swipe with her tiny paw but it isn't close enough to get his nose.

He doesn't understand- at all, literally- but Mercy has his reasons, always, whether he discloses them or not. So it is Millie; Millie and Mercy and Matt, all together at last, and dinner with friends is waiting in the next room.

He couldn't ask for more.

 


	14. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt had a very, very bad day at work.  
> [Present Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On July 8th, 2016, I promised smut. Today, the 17th of September, I deliver.

Mercy was working through his latest job, cleaning code for a program that had been freezing during a handful of user interactions, nose inches from the screen and eyes next to crossed while he hunted for the line that contained the error. It had been a solid four hours by the time that Matt came home, slamming the door behind himself. Mercy jerked in his seat, suddenly feeling the pain in his knees from being curled into a tight ball in his seat.

He blinked, head still fuzzy from concentration. Door slamming. _Door slamming_. He eased out of the rolling chair and padded carefully into the living room. Matt was standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and head down. Breathing heavily. Mercy's heart palpitated for a moment, adrenaline rushing through his system. Matt hadn't thrown things or raged in at least a year, but that was no guarantee the anger,  _that_ anger, wouldn't return.

Mercy tucked himself against the hallway wall and reached up with one hand- it was still tired from typing and scrolling and scrolling and typing- and tapped his fingernails against the white paint.

Matt looked up and at him immediately, face a bit red. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

“Bad day,” Matt took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his teeth. “These new guys. At the station. Fucking hell.”

“Oh,” Mercy watched as Matt shrugged out of his jacket and toed off his shoes in the same jerky set of motions. Still careful, the redhead slipped up to his partner's side, waiting one short moment to be sure Matt was okay with his presence. He thread his arms along Matt's ribs and gave him a quick squeeze before letting go and taking a step back. “Can I do anything?”

Matt breathed again through his nose and back out through his teeth; his skin was closer to its natural almost-tan, and his hair was rumpled from the weather. “I don't know, sweetheart.”

Gently, Mercy took one of Matt's large hands and pulled him toward the couch. The cat came out from under the coffee table and watched them, rumbling a tiny purr now that her pack was in her favorite room. Mercy sat them down and guided Matt to turn his back before running his fingernails down his broad back. He was wearing a plain black tee, one of Mercy's favorite looks, because of how the color rode along his body, tempting and bold. Humming, he ran his hands over Matt's slumped shoulders before actively digging his thumbs into the muscles. It ached almost instantaneously, his joints still sore from work, but he kept at it, switching to gentle scratching when it got to be too much.

He worked up and down Matt's back and neck, finally reaching into his hair and tugging the curls before scritching at the scalp underneath. He heard Matt breathe and sigh and saw him relax slowly, still quiet. He had grabbed a throw pillow and stuffed it against his lap, and was now leaning back into the attention. “Thank you,” he murmured, “That feels really nice, baby.”

Without his input, his dick pulsed with the words. He swallowed. It wasn't his fault that the things Matt said inside and outside of the bedroom would have an effect on him. He just had to focus on making Matt feel better, that was all. It was fine. He kept humming instead of responding, pressing his forehead to Matt's neck while keeping his fingers at work in the mess of curls. Matt took a deep breath in and arched his back, blowing it out loudly while his spine bowed the opposite direction, into a slouch.

Mercy rode the wave of this motion, his dick swelling in earnest. He giggled, nervous, but didn't quite take his hands out of Matt's messy curls. Rather, he slid his fingers down to Matt's ears, thumbs smoothing along the large shells; Matt shivered.

The bigger man reached up and pulled Mercy's hands forward, drawing his torso against his back, warm and comforting, though Mercy arched his own back to keep his hips away. He didn't want Matt to think he was taking advantage of his bad mood, being perverted about it. He let his chin rest against the top of Matt's head, happy. “I'm sorry you had a bad day.”

“It's okay. I feel better, thank you,” Matt tilted his chin and dropped a kiss on Mercy's pale bicep, undefined as it was. He laughed, then, “Maybe too better.”

“What?” Mercy frowned, not following. At least, not until Matt moved the throw pillow from his lap. He was hard in his khaki work pants, the bulge straining against the dark brown material. Mercy watched with wide eyes. He licked his lips. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” Matt laughed, releasing his partner's arms before they fell asleep. Mercy scrambled to get in front of him, kneeling on the carpet. His mouth was watering.

“Mattie, can I...?” he let his palms rest on Matt's knees, holding tight.

“You- you don't have to do that, sweetheart,” Matt brought his left hand up to cradle Mercy's cheek, loving how the redhead turned in to it, eyes closing, trusting him fully.

When Mercy opened his eyes, Matt saw that his pupils were large and black, sucking him in. The blue that ringed those bright pupils was dark, almost lost. The redhead took a breath and breathed it out so forcefully that the hem of Matt's shirt fluttered. “I want to. Mattie, please. Can I?”

Matt watched, entranced, as Mercy slid his palms along the inside of his thighs, stopping short of the bulge, but running his thumbs along it- his eyes were pleading. He licked his lips again, holding eye contact while he went for the button and zipper. Matt didn't stop him, only nodded. Though the angle was bad, he could see that Mercy was just as excited, his lounge pants pulled tight across his groin.

“I want to,” he said again, lifting up, dragging his hands back down to Matt's knees.

“Okay- okay,” Matt stuttered, grabbing his waistband and tugging it down; Mercy seemed entirely committed, pulling the pants below Matt's knees before tipping himself into Matt's lap, nose and cheek brushing against his boxer briefs.

“Mattie, is this for me?” he whispered, as though it were a present; he shuddered, rubbing himself on the pants that hung taut between Matt's shins.

“Baby,” Matt breathed, bringing his hands up to push Mercy's hair behind his perfect ears. The older man slipped his fingers into Matt's underwear, pulling them away from his hips and down his legs. He moved away only long enough to get the fabric down and off of Matt's legs before he was back between them, breathing heavily though he hadn't even begun

Matt's dick was thick and heavy in front his nose, reddish and ready. Mercy brought one hand up to guide it toward his mouth, sparing all pretense of teasing, and settled the first inch against his tongue. He could feel Matt breathing over him, his big hands grabbing up twin fistfuls of Mercy's tank top, rucking it up his back, exposing him. He moaned, pushing his mouth farther down Matt's cock, breathing through his nose and twitching his hips. Everything about Matt was perfect, as far as he was concerned, even the hover of sweat and skin, the musk of it cloying and hot. It was _perfect_ , better this way, real and a bit bitter. He pressed his tongue against the ridge that ran the length of it, his guiding hand squeezing around the base and changing the angle in his mouth.

Matt keened, leaning back. His jaw dropped as he felt Mercy suck in earnest, still squeezing; his warm tongue rested against the head, rolled against it, then rested again. This was the absolute best thing about living alone- no roommates and no family, no interruptions. Anywhere they wanted to be, they could be; Matt wrapped his mind around a fantasy of lifting Mercy up, in the kitchen, defiling the counters. His long legs could wrap around his hips, but no- first they would rest on his shoulders, his heels digging into Matt's back while he tongued him open, wet wet wet.

“Baby,” he moaned again, half to the Mercy in front of him, half to the Mercy in his imagination. His hips lifted in short, abortive contractions, gently fucking the inside of his partner's perfect mouth; he reached again for his hair, pulling it away from his pale face, now pink with exertion. He bundled the hair in his fist, tugging it just a little bit, how Mercy liked. He earned a moan from the redhead as he resisted the pull, taking more cock and shuddering when his gag reflex winched at him.

Matt smiled, enamored, and tugged again. “Easy, sweetheart, easy. You're doing so good, it's okay. Relax. I've got you.”

Mercy exhaled hard, the curls at the base of Matt's dick swaying. He grabbed at the insides of Matt's hard thighs, pulling himself closer before running his hands back up to his hips, then over his abdominal muscles, where they tensed and relaxed from shallow thrusts. He could take more; he _wanted_ to. Slowly, exultant, he pulled off, making eye contact as he let his tongue linger on the exposed head. “Fuck my mouth.”

“I- Mercy, this is enough, this is _amazing_ -”

The redhead slid his hands up Matt's chest, fast and confident, and flipped his thumbs over Matt's nipples. He stared, refusing to break eye contact. The wonderfully aggressive touch put Matt in over his head, he gasped and whined, abs beginning to burn as he twitched against open air.

“Mattie. Fuck. My _mouth_ ,” with that missive hanging between them, he relaxed his throat as much as he knew how to and held on to Matt's hips. Now ordered to, Matt groaned and rocked up, against the heat and the wet. Mercy groaned back, the most satisfied sound Matt had heard in weeks, as though Mercy had won a game, the lottery, and a trivia contest all in one. With his hand still wrapped up in red hair, he _thrust_ , letting Mercy guide his pace by his steel grip on his hips. God, let there be bruising. Let their be eight discs of mottled purple as proof of Mercy's devotion, as proof of how wrapped around his fingers he had Matt, body and soul, and groaning, growing arousal.

Matt was _close_ , it felt too good, too intense, with Mercy's tongue following every push and pull of his cock, catching the ridge of the head as it went. The pressure of it, and the way his breath stuttered through his nose; and the most erotic thing of all, Mercy with his eyes squeezed shut, reaching down with his right hand to press his palm against the incredible hardness of his own cock, straining for relief as he moaned low in the back of his throat.

“Baby, do you feel good? Touch yourself, _yes_ , you're so beautiful, yes- Oh, god, don't stop, please,” Matt smoothed his free hand over the side of Mercy's face, his orgasm building steady and sure and _intense_. As he thrust, once and twice again, Mercy brought his hand back up and palmed where Matt's balls were drawn tight below his swollen red red red dick, and that was more than enough, more than perfect, because yes yes _yes_. “Mercy, oh- yes, yes, take it, take my dick, baby, _fuck._ ”

Mercy whined, sucking and swallowing, and breathing hard through his nose. His face was so beautifully red that his freckles were almost washed-out. Matt gasped, hips twitching, as he finished; the feeling of Mercy's tongue now, gentle, against his spent cock a sort of kindness, or sweetness. The kneeling man pulled off slowly, Matt releasing his hair and watching with open adoration as he panted down at him, next to boneless. He pet Mercy's hair and cheeks, his rose red neck.

Mercy wiped his arm across his mouth, flush lurid across his shoulders. He asked, eyes half-lidded and sly, “Good?”

“Perfect,” Matt sighed, wrapping his hands around Mercy's ribs and pulling him close. He kissed the side of his mouth, then his lower lip, before nudging them apart and kissing him properly, possessively, gratefully. Mercy whined again, lips sensitive, throat sticky. He felt Matt's broad palm nestle against his achy cock, gentle but insistent.

“You don't have to,” he mumbled against Matt's pouty lower lip.

“I _want_ to,” Matt grinned, dragging the combined waist bands of Mercy's lounge pants and boxer briefs down his hips. He kissed down the side of his partner's neck, his free hand lowering to his ass and encouraging him to thrust into his fisted hand. Mercy moaned and braced himself against Matt's shoulders, jerking his hips in little repetitions of the same desire he had pulled from Matt.

The guiding hand went up to Mercy's mouth suddenly, the index and middle finger resting on his swollen lower lip. Matt asked, seemed to beg, “Can I?”

Mercy only nodded, fast, before pulling the fingers into his mouth and sucking on them feverishly, as though he would die without something else in his mouth to keep it occupied. Matt pulled him closer, the angle less than ideal, but well within his plan. “Lean on me, baby. I've got you, here.”

He led Mercy's right hand down to his cock, letting him take over, touching himself the way he liked best. His wet fingers he trailed down Mercy's backside before carefully rubbing at this hole.

“Relax, yes, _oh_ , you're so gorgeous, keep it up...” still praising him, Matt pushed the fingers in one after the other, his own dick giving a sympathy twitch as Mercy gasped and moaned and jerked himself. “Yes, yes, just like that, you're so good.”

“I'm- I'm good?”

Matt kissed his neck, fingering the lovely man who lay across his side, and reached for his balls; already they were tight, ready. Mercy muffled himself against Matt's shoulder and squeezed at himself; his left hand clutched, convulsive, at Matt's tee shirt.

“You're _so_ good, you're perfect, make yourself feel good for me,” he pushed in deeper with the one hand, loving how his arm fit against Mercy's back. “Baby, come on me- come on me, okay?”

The redhead nodded, sobbing out needful sounds as Matt held him from every side; he did the one thing, then, that never failed to push him to the edge, the _one_ thing, the _best_ thing. Matt opened his jaw wide and _bit_ at the space where Mercy's slender shoulder met his neck, where his heartbeat was loud and hot right beneath his skin. He _bit_ and he _sucked_ and pressed his tongue tight to the pulse there, and Mercy was _gone_ in his arms, crying out and coming coming coming all over his black shirt, perfect and cloudy white.

“Mattie,” he sighed, collapsing fully, his thighs shaking from the effort of having kept him upright. What a mess, but it was such a comfort to be so close, so spent and true.

“You're too good for me,” Matt smiled, wrapping his strong arms around Mercy's heaving back. “Much too good.”

“No such thing,” Mercy mumbled into his neck, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a huge huff. He saw in the corner of the room, then, Millie sleeping on the uppermost platform of her cat tree. He laughed, still mostly breathless, “I can't believe she slept through that.”

Matt laughed back and kissed Mercy's neck, then the purplish spot he had made by the strap of his tank top. His jaw was next, and then his perfect, wonderful, clever mouth. He kissed him sound, rubbing his back as he did. He could barely remember work, barely remember the snide things he had overheard of himself from jerks who didn't know better. They didn't know that the equipment didn't work without his hand keeping things steady. They didn't know that he kept his head down and worked hard to help keep a roof over Mercy's head, over his own head. They didn't know and they didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was this fey creature curled up against him, on, all around him, keeping him sane. Keeping him anchored in a tumultuous sea, or some other poetic dressing that could never come close enough to the feeling that he had when Mercy was safe in his arms. Safe and sweet and selfless, more than he deserved.

He kissed the top of Mercy's head, ran his hand all along the arm that curled over his heart. This was enough. It always would be.

 


	15. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy is sick, Matt is perfect, and the roommate has a name and does NOT need tissue reimbursement.  
> [COLLEGE DAYS]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought I died (I did).

“Hey, Fia,” Matt closed and locked the dorm room behind himself, lifting the grocery bag in his hand in lieu of waving. She looked up from her toes and smiled; in what Matt thought to be sheer witchcraft, she continued to paint one of her toes without looking.

“Hey, Matt. Techie just went back to his room. Oh, my _god,_ he is sniffly.”

Matt chuckled, “Sorry. Did he ruin your show?”

“Nah, of course not. We just sat and waited for you. I painted his toes, hope you like green.”

He passed in front of the large television in front of which Fia was usually parked, still amused. Fia had been Mercy's roommate for three years in a row now. Like Rey, she was fiercely loyal, but not particularly willing to coddle. He could respect that.

“I got the strongest stuff you can get over the counter, so. Hopefully he'll be able to breathe, you know.”

“Good- Oh, before you go in there, can you please tell him he does _not_ have to pay me back for the tissues? Like, he _really_ does not need to do that. Tell him he's being ridiculous.”

“Sure thing,” he agreed, knocking on the last door in their dorm before pushing it open. Mercy was expecting him, had told him to come right in, but habit was habit. It was only polite. To the cocoon balled up at the head of the bed he said: “Fia says not to pay her back for the tissues.”

“How much do I owe you for that bag?” Mercy countered, holding the box of tissues in question against his chest. He leaned against the wall, a comforter up over his shoulders.

“Sweetheart, no,” Matt laughed, watching the petulant way Mercy tracked his movement through the room. He unpacked it on the other boy's cluttered desk, pulling the vitamin water first, then the little box of cold medicine. “This is the drowsy stuff, so it's probably gonna kick your ass.”

“But...”

“It's fine, you can take a nap. If Fia is still up, we can watch something all together.”

Mercy pushed his toes out from under the comforter and wiggled them in a wave. His eyes were at half-mast, his nose red. “She painted my toes.”

Matt nodded, handing over a half-peeled foil packet of cold medicine. Mercy frowned but took it, taking the water with his other hand. The tissue box tipped to the side and skated off the bed. The little slight made Mercy look ready to cry with frustration, so Matt stooped down fast to pick it up. When he had it secure, he sat beside the sniffing redhead and pulled him, comforter and all, under his arm.

“Your toes look nice. Think she'll paint mine?”

“Yeah,” Mercy said, voice flat but not dismissive. It was simply a fact to him; he shuddered before tucking his head beneath Matt's chin. “I'm gonna die, probably.”

“No, you're not,” Matt wrapped his other arm around Mercy's drawn shoulders, squeezing him between his tired arms. How many reps at the gym today? Enough? Too many? It was hard to say. Mercy seemed to love his arms, so it was worth it, that burn.

“Yeah, I am. But you can have my computer stuff when I do,” the redhead stuck his arm out of the blanket burrito and then pulled it back in. He pushed one leg and then the other before rolling onto his back against his partner, stretching in comic exaggeration.

Ten minutes passed before Mercy moved again; Matt simply watched as the other young man stared into space, periodically sniffling and turning his head from one side to the other. Abruptly, he started pawing his way out of what remained of the cocoon. “I'm high,” he announced, rolling away, toward the wall.

He floundered slowly upward, not asking for help; half-crushing the tissue box as he went, he rolled from the foot of the bed and stood. He sat back down immediately, his knees knocking together. Matt reached out, putting his big palm on Mercy's back. “Are you okay?”

“Vertigo. I ran out of balance. Did you buy- did you buy- um-?”

“Snacks? Yes. I bought everything you asked for,” Matt stood and grabbed the bag, opening it to show his boyfriend its contents. Mercy peered inward, his nose and mouth set in imperious lines. He nodded slowly at what he saw. Fruit, gummies, chocolate, a bottle of ginger ale that Matt should have put in the fridge, but _fine_ , he could do it when they went back out.

Matt would do it. Matt bought him snacks and medicine- and another box of tissues, it looked like. His heart thumped once, hard, when he thought of how expensive the student mini-mart, the only open thing within walking distance at this hour, had to have been. But Matt did it.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked again, smiling up at Matt in a way that he would have no way of knowing made Matt's heart sing in his chest. It was a mellow and dreamy smile, impossibly warm. Mercy would have no way of knowing that the way his lips were turned upward made Matt's mouth dry. He would have no way of knowing that his rumpled sleep clothes and knotty hair and cold-flushed skin filled Matt with an un-quantifiable affection, something bubbling from deep in his chest that showed Mercy in a warm and rosy light.

Something primal and true that didn't disguise or mask or misrepresent what Mercy was, how he looked, his imperfections: His soft arms and the pudge of his belly, his pale skin and myriad freckles, his stuffy nose and unwashed hair. How willful and stubborn he could be, how secretive and grumpy. His retiring and shy nature, his way of hiding how smart he was, his habit of skating under the radar, avoiding the spotlight that Matt knew, _knew_ , he richly deserved.

The feeling ran up and down Matt's spine, wrapping around his heart, though he was in no rush to do anything with it.

And Mercy wouldn't know for a long time that _this moment_ , together with a crinkling plastic bag between them, was the moment Matt fell irreparably in love with him, entirely, fully, and with no compunction. Matt grinned, his face feeling hot. He grabbed the comforter and the tissues and juggled them with the bag over his wrist. “Come on, let's go watch a movie with Fia. I'm gonna get a matching pedicure.”

“It's just nail-painting, it's not really a pedicure,” Mercy corrected, following idly and willingly, shuffling and entirely inebriated on cold medicine.

Matt turned to look at him, unaware that he was memorizing every detail about the way Mercy rubbed his eyes and went trustingly where Matt took him; he was perfect. He sneezed.

The blonde laughed, making eye contact then with Mercy's roomie. “Hey, Fia. Still cool with company?”

“Obviously,” the other blonde tutted, pulling her legs up to lean on the arm. “We were going to watch the new Star Trek movie.”

“Excellent!” it would be Matt's eighth, possibly ninth viewing. And, to the best of his knowledge, it would be Mercy's fourth. Or, half-fourth, seeing as he was guaranteed to fall asleep before Jayla was even introduced. He made a nest for Mercy to crawl into, feeling desperately, almost hysterically buoyed though he wasn't quite sure why, not quite yet. “Oh, also- would you tell this guy he _does not_ need to pay me back for the stuff?”

Fia's big laugh and Mercy's half-offended, half-delirious giggle filled the apartment, and Matt's heart was full, ready to watch his current-favorite movie while his always-favorite person fell asleep in his lap.

(Fell, fall, falling.) (Forever.)

 


	16. Hidden Talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes labels aren't important, sometimes they are.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30DoT is going to take me ten years

Matt stared. This was unexpected. Mercy stared back at him, a very nearly wounded expression frozen across his eyes. Sitting in the middle of his bed, surrounded by yards and yards of _ridiculously_ fluffy, lacy, riotous fabric, with a small woven basket by his hip, Mercy hunched his shoulders and started to glare in earnest.

Finally he muttered, “It's for my sister.”

“No, yeah, that's- cool,” Matt stumbled over his tongue, working his way into his former lab partner's (current boyfriend's?)- space; the redhead's laptop bag was on the floor, as were his shoes and a damp towel. He must have gotten back from classes and dove right in to this- project. It looked complex.

“I wasn't, um, expecting you,” Mercy said, the chiding very well hidden from his tone, but Matt knew.

“Yeah, sorry... I didn't mean to. Uh. Bug you? I just. Heh,” he scuffed his toe against the bed frame, looking down. “I guess I just wanted to see you. I wanted to take you to dinner. Surprise you.”

“Oh,” Mercy's voice was very small, the bridge of his nose and the span of his cheeks going red. Matt could relate: It felt like someone had lit a fire beneath his chin. “Well... that. That's okay.”

The younger student took another step closer, reaching out to very lightly touch the edge of the frothy lace that spilled over the edge of the twin bed. It was softer than it looked, yet- still strangely stiff. He brushed it a little more forcefully, just to see what it would do.

“What are you making...?” he finally ventured, while Mercy held still with a needle between his fingers and a curl of lace clamped in his other hand, tight against an incredible shade of blue for which Matt had no name. A blustery sigh was the only response he got. Slowly, he sat on the floor, to the side of the fabric waterfall, and let his chin rest on the edge of the mattress. “Sorry I didn't call first. I should have.”

“It's a gown for a masquerade. And. It's... I mean, it's okay, you just wanted to do something sweet for me. I just,” Mercy blew out a great gust of frustrated air, “I thought you were Fia.”

“Not as pretty,” Matt grinned, and Mercy smiled back.

A few minutes passed in companionable quiet; Mercy went back to carefully stitching the soft 'tulle' to the 'Tiffany' blue fabric. Matt was learning all kinds of new things, including the most incredible expression that Mercy affected, next to unblinking, as he slipped the needle back and forth, back and forth. He learned a few notes of whatever song or daydream Mercy began to hum to himself while he worked; he imagined that with the secret hanging there between them, taken without permission, it was a way to relax, to feel guarded again. Matt could respect that.

Before long, the hem of the dress was done almost entirely, the lace creeping and changing as it scaled up the front and side. It looked like something a princess of fairy queen would wear. Matt stared, in awe, as Mercy trimmed and sealed a thread; it was witchcraft how the loose thread seemed suddenly to vanish, as though it had never been between the redhead's teeth.

“How do you know how to do this?”

“Oh. Um. My mom. She started my sister and me on it when we were little. Constance learned more, but, um. Actually she sewed most of this. It came express in the mail this morning. I'm just, um, really good at trims. She says... Um. That I have a good eye for keeping all the seams straight, and. Um. You can't really machine sew this stuff- I mean, you _can_ , but if it gets snagged, the whole thing can be ruined and it's easier to lose control of the, uh, the line of stitches, and... um...” the other student floundered, turning another shade of red before somehow swallowing it down.

“I think that is... _so_ awesome, you're so talented!” Matt moved up onto his knees, planting his elbows in a space on the bed not occupied by silk or satin or velvet or whatever the hell this dress was made of. “You're so cool.”

“No,” Mercy grumped, but smiled all the same. “I'm. Almost done... we could still go out?”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely,” Matt started to rise, the blood in his feet having slowed to a crawl. The static in his skin was not _quite_ excruciating. “Oh, but, do you need to go to the post office or something? To send it back?”

Mercy lowered his hands from where he had been checking the whole length of the train; his eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly open. Matt wasn't immediately sure, but it seemed like it might be pleasant surprise. “Wow, Matt. That's. _Really_ sweet of you. The masquerade is actually just over in Gaffon. So. She's coming up to visit and go to it.”

“Oh, sure. Okay. So, uhh-” Matt felt his face getting even warmer even as he leaned boldly in, “-does this mean I might get to meet your sister?”

Mercy's blue eyes went wide, startled and bright. “You. Want to?”

“Um, yeah, unless you think it's too soon. Are you going to break up with me pretty soon?” the blonde grinned, but his heart thudded in his chest, caged only marginally by his ribs. They hadn't really _talked_ about this thing yet. Labels had not yet been applied.

Mercy bit his lip, looking down and bringing the needle back through the lace, toward himself, then away. His cheeks were red. “Well... well no. Since we're... dating...?”

Matt felt a rush of relief and misplaced adrenaline ache through his shoulders and stomach. The nervous rising tone, the sweet way he hid his face. The feeling that, _no_ , the confession and kissing and going on little dates wasn't a fluke. It all _meant_ something. He reached out, careful of the fabric and of further startling the beautiful young man that somehow, against all odds, liked him _back._ He brushed his fingers against the side of Mercy's jaw, slow, exultant. “I thought we might be. I hoped.”

“Okay,” Mercy breathed out, just this side of shaky. The needle had stilled in its path through the dress. “So. My sister should meet. My boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend,” Matt agreed, emphatic. He pressed forward, cupping the side of Mercy's face. The nervous, elated eye contact that the redhead passed to him was intoxicating. He wanted to take a photo, to bottle the feeling it gave him. He brought himself closer, pressing his mouth over Mercy's with as much intent as he could muster: _Yours, yours, all yours._ He felt the way Mercy's sharp inhale filled his lungs, raised his shoulders; he felt when Mercy reached back for him, needle still in hand. He felt the pull of the thread on the other man's fingers as they rested near Matt's neck.

Kissing Mercy was like finding his way home after forgetting what home felt like; something unbearably warm and comfortable. The way he parted his mouth, quick and ready, and the way he _breathed_ , sweet like he didn't know what he did to Matt. Maybe he didn't. It was all the same. Matt hummed and let him go, letting his thumb run a marathon across the bridge of Mercy's nose and cheek, on toward his ear.

He felt his chest constrict over how much he liked this boy; he was ready to spend the rest of his life learning all of the rest of his hidden talents and hopes, if it meant hearing Mercy say 'my boyfriend' even one more time.

Matt slipped back down the bed, grinning and licking his lips. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his faded jeans, “Take your time with that, I'll just see what's open that we might like.”

“Okay,” the redhead nodded, dipping immediately back into his project; he couldn't wait for whatever Matt had planned and couldn't wait for Constance to meet him, this amazing, open-minded sweetheart.

He sewed faster than he had in a long, long time.


	17. Makeup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carissa is the best mother she knows how to be.  
> [Youth Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout number two to my lovely AtlinMerrick, who encouraged me to get this out by today. You should ABSOLUTELY check out her Techienician works and the Johnlock she put up: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7929796/chapters/21180266
> 
> XOXO my darling <3

An early memory:

It's Halloween, and Mercy is four. He's had months to decide what he wanted to be, but had refused to choose. Now, he distinctly recalls that, at the time, he found almost all of the costumes that his parents had shown him to be too scary or too dumb. He'd sulked and refused, and it had come down to the day of.

He knows now, looking back, that his mother had a headache. Constance was entering puberty in a rush, twelve going on twenty-two, and was feeling resentful of having to take her little brother trick-or-treating when her girlfriends were all hanging out like grown-ups at the all-night diner. At four, he was already tuned in to his sister's mood, and, adoring her, he's sure that his reticence had also to do with wanting not to impede her good time.

His mother has a halo around her pale blonde hair. Not a costume, but a kind of light. She's been sighing and trying to keep her eyes from pinching in irritation. Mercy isn't quite throwing a temper tantrum, but he won't wear last year's costume- the Cowardly Lion- and he won't say what he wants to wear, either. He is certain, now, absolutely, that she was fighting a migraine, and that this particular episode in her children's shared adolescence was the primary motivation for the week long absence she would undergo the following month. An 'artist's retreat,' their father would call it, leaving them with a nanny and a pat on their heads.

Carissa Joy Madine, nee Tarkin, was singular in her love for them, and singular also in her ability to leave them all the same.

He remembers the morning like a dream, the details hazy but accurate: Their mother made them a hearty breakfast of cereal and toast, misplacing the butter twice while she wandered from the kitchen to her coffee and back. Constance messaged her friends over her own coffee, and Mercy carefully arranged dry cereal by shape while his bowl waited. Their Halloween walk was only hours away.

“Sweetie,” Carissa had tried, smoothing her long, flowing dress over her knees, “What do you want to be today? Would you like to be the lion again?”

Mercy, stubborn, had shaken his head and refused to look.

“Fuck,” his mother then sighed, letting her cheek rest in her palm. “Well. You'd better pick something, darling, or you'll be the only one there without a costume. Unless you just don't want to go?”

“No!” Mercy jerked his head up; his hair was grown out then, a cloud of red just around his ears. “I wanna go.”

“Want to,” Carissa enunciated, sighing again. Her hair was in a bun, a braid wrapping around, but she had been picking at it, and loose hairs were springing down to tickle her shoulders. Mercy thought that she looked like an angel, with her hair and her eyes and the halo around her whole self. He still hadn't known what he wanted.

She left the kitchen, ignoring Constance's ignoring her, and when she returned, she had some of her painting supplies and a grim smile on her youthful face. Sitting catercorner to him, Mercy remembers feeling pinned by her reluctance, her fatigue. “How about this? I'll paint your face. If you don't like it, you can wash it off.”

Mercy moved a single piece of cereal out of its rank. He remembers listening.

“These are the special paints. The ones with gold in them.”

“Not real gold,” Constance reminded her brother, strangely lacking in condescension. Just a rebellious matter-of-factness she would ultimately never grow out of.

“No,” Carissa agreed, “It's a kind of glitter. But it will look lovely. And this-” she held up a long brush around which there were two strips of painting tape, “-is the brush I used to paint the governor's swans.”

Mercy remembers looking up, eye probably wide. 'The Swans at Peak Place' was his absolute favorite. The sunset had looked _real_ in that painting. Mercy remembers also how Constance was no longer messaging, just looking on in interest. Her favorite painting their mother had done was 'Ere the Stars.'

Half an hour later, Carissa had shown her son the handiwork with a gilded hand mirror that Constance would eventually inherit: His face a bloom of gold, with red and white highlights, eyes rimmed in dark blue, eyelashes plumped with mascara. Mercy remembers feeling overwhelmed, awed. There was no way the little boy in the mirror- the vision in gold- was him. The color spread along the sides of his neck, terminating in splashes of glitter. He had reached up and tried to touch his cheek, only for Carissa to gently catch his wrist, and say, “Don't touch, it's not set. Do you know who you are?”

Mercy shook his head No.

“You're Apollo,” his mother cooed, fluffing his red hair into a bird's nest and spraying it with a canister of smelly product. “God of the sun, my little prince.”

Constance had laughed in delight, and before long, Carissa had painted her face to match in silver: Flecked and streaked with white and pale blue, Artemis of the moon. White sheets were summarily sacrificed into almost accurate chitons, Carissa donating several expensive brooches to pinch the fabric at her children's shoulders. She had said, eventually, that she would have dip-dyed them if they'd had time. Mercy remembers feeling a sting of guilt, but even through her headache, Carissa smiled at him, and the guilt trickled away. He was only four.

Mercy doesn't much remember the walk, though he knows the route they took through the neighborhood. Carissa pushed an impossibly posh stroller as they went, leaning on its handles whenever she felt dizzy from her medications. Constance allowed him to hold her hand and forgot to message her girlfriends at the diner. They laughed when they received toothbrushes from the Redden family around the corner.

Everything else is a blur. He has no idea where his father was, though working was the logical thing.

He remembers, vaguely, that Carissa had gone to bed early, very early, while Constance traded candy with him in the living room. Their mother had no restrictions on what they did with it, but Constance's rule was to only eat thirteen pieces at a time, every day, until it was gone, and they treated this tradition very seriously.

The next day, Carissa would leave, airy and light and sweet, very cleverly hiding the dark thing inside her that Mercy sometimes felt he had inherited. It was a gift he did not prefer over Conna's mirror. But it was a thing that he had of their mother, he thought.

He barely remembers, though. He was only four.

 


	18. Hand Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance and Ira make their way to Mercy.  
> [College Days]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most loose application of a theme so far

When Constance Quinn Madine was twenty-one, she lost her mother and almost lost her brother in the same breath. Hundreds of things could have gone differently and she would have lost Mercy. Any tiny, insignificant detail:

She had been fighting with her boyfriend of the time for approximately one month. Their breaking up was the major impetus for visiting home that weekend.

Projected weather issues had bumped her trip time from the third weekend up to the second.

Her intent had been to surprise Mercy; he hadn't know she was coming. (Would that have changed his mind before he made it up?)

What if traffic from the airport had been worse- or better?

What if she had stopped for coffee- an impulse she'd had before?

What if she had been paying more attention to Mercy, for one thing? Had taken his worsening shyness and his lack of friends more seriously. It was too much to expect it from their parents: Their father worked so hard, loved them so much, but just wasn't around enough. Their mother was a daydreamer who had no problem carrying her son along for the ride. They were two peas in a pod, Carissa and Mercy, while Constance had inherited their father's drive and determination. Crix had also,more specifically, given his daughter a car with remarkable gas mileage, and once she had picked it up from the storage garage, it had been full enough to get her straight home that afternoon.

And what if she had had to stop for gas?

All of this she explains in a rush as they speed down the East-West freeway, the sun not quite in their eyes; Ira Wieczorek has been her boyfriend for almost three years now, and this was the first time she felt able to tell the truth about her brother.

He knew that Constance's mother had passed in a devastating accidental overdose of prescription medication. He knew that she had taken some time away from school while her little brother was 'in recovery. From illness.' There was so much loaded into these brief statements, especially from the first he'd heard of them. It had been painfully obvious that she was holding back the whole truth until she was sure he would be sticking around; for that, he had no doubts. Constance was singular and rare, and he wasn't planning on going anywhere.

(Two years from this moment, Ira would find himself sitting at a small round table draped in white cloth. With him would be Constance's brother's partner, a hulk of a guy with kind eyes. They would be watching Mercy and Constance dancing together, most of the dance being joyful, aimless spinning, and they would be sharing the stories of how they each met their incomparable red headed love.)

“Anyway, he was in a medical ward for a few years before he was able to be released. Mostly clean bill of health. That was when I came back- Dad couldn't be around to keep an eye on him, and there was no way in fuck I was leaving it to a nanny.”

“How old was he?”

“Oh, god, I don't know? Maybe sixteen, seventeen. I just remember, hmm, helping him study for his GED. And. I remember how freaked out I was when he decided he was ready for college,” Constance let the wheel tip slightly, left to right, as they rolled along a steep curve.

“Yeah, that sounds scary,” Ira glanced at her hands: Slightly tight on the wheel, but not in meltdown mode. A rarity for her, but family talk put her on edge.

“I guess I didn't have any reason to worry. Dad paid for some damn good treatment, and he still sees a therapist, I just- you don't think that's weird, do you?”

“Conna, no, of course not. Everybody deals with stuff their own way, right?” he reached over to clasp her knee, “I'm just glad you still have him.”

Constance took a deep breath and glanced for just a moment at her dark-haired boyfriend. If they had children, they were unlikely to inherit the hair she and Mercy had gotten from their father. “He's my baby, you know? I spent- I spent so much time holding his hand, begging him to come back. And he finally did.”

Ira squeezed her knee and withdrew. “Her middle name was Joy, right?”

“My mom? Yeah. It was Dad's idea to name us like that. He was- I don't even know how to describe how much he loved her. Like, _nobody_ loved _anybody_ as much as my dad loved my mom. He was smitten, totally. And I think that she thought the world of him, too,” she laughed and pulled into the exit lane, “She was always harder to read, which is why I was always jealous of Cece. They spoke the same language. Anyway, my dad was always super obvious- still is- he's like... impasto and mom was watercolor.”

Ira snorted, halfway understanding. He appreciated her paintings but didn't particularly understand them. “I'm excited to meet him, Mercy.”

“You'll like him, he's sweet. And he's sharp as fuck once he's comfortable with someone, like, he can be fucking savage, I don't know where he learned it from.”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea?” Ira couldn't help himself, he reached again for her leg, letting his fingers form a perfect bond with her thigh.

“None at all, nope,” Constance sighed a kind of happy sigh, and turned to look at him; they were paused at a light, nearly in to the city proper where Mercy's technical degree was housed, “Hey. Thanks for taking me to this thing. This ball. I haven't been in costume in years.”

“I'm happy you're coming with me. My mother and father met at a dance kind of like this.”

“Seriously?”

“It was very romantic,” Ira knew all about romance. He had been planning this for months.

That night, they had dinner with Mercy, who was exactly as shy as Constance was not, but equally pretty. She chastised him for not bringing his new, and first, boyfriend, though apparently Matt 'was sick with the flu.' Ira could imagine the young man who picked his way through a chicken salad that was a quarter croutons as a young teenager, soft and sweet.

The siblings made their way through a bottle of wine, Ira taking over for driving. He could tell his girlfriend needed it, the unwinding.

She had mentioned before the need to check in on Mercy, but seeing it in action was a little bit more fluid and far less stressful than he had predicted. He absently wished they all lived closer, that he had met Mercy sooner.

The college student openly and emphatically gushed to Ira once he was two glasses in, his salad half-forgotten; he seemed to feel the sun rose and set in his sister, and said as much. Conna only laughed and pushed his shoulder, calling him a flatterer and a weasel.

Ira would ask him to stand by his best man, if the masquerade ball was as successful as he was hoping.

At the end of the bottle of wine, they checked into a hotel with two beds, and Ira was only vaguely surprised when Constance pulled Mercy into the bed by the window and held him, exactly like a mother might. Mercy mumbled against her arm, already stretching into a more comfortable position, “Your boyfriend, though...”

Conna yawned, her beautiful green eyes staying shut, “He loves me.”

And with that the siblings were dead asleep, wine-flushed and atop the comforters. Ira draped the other bed's topmost blanket over the heap of redheads and set to unpacking the necessities. The toothbrushes were first- she'd be needing that, later.

Tomorrow they would swing by Mercy's dorm, pick up the dress Conna had sewn, and that Mercy had appended, and go to a masquerade. He would ask the question he needed most to ask, and, ideally, he'd have Conna in his life for the rest of his days.

Until then, and well after, he was willing to share.

 


End file.
